


Turning Tides

by In_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Hogwarts, Mentions of Suicide, Muggle Life, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Recovery & Healing, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/pseuds/In_Dreams
Summary: Desperate for a change of pace following the end of the war, Hermione leaves London for a distant seaside town. There she stumbles upon Draco Malfoy, alone and seeking a fresh start. Written for Strictly Dramione's Summer Lovin' Fest 2018.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This piece was written for Strictly Dramione's Summer Fest 2018. The only requirements were that the story takes place during the summer, and end on the Hogwarts Express, September 1st.
> 
> Warnings: Please be advised this story contains the following: coarse language, depression and mentions of suicide, alcohol consumption, and sexual content. Please take this as your warning for the entirety of this fic.
> 
> Thanks to the prereading assistance of Kyonomiko and Labelladone x. Thanks also to coyg-81 for her help with the location of this fic.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

                                                  

 

Hermione Granger secured the hood of her raincoat over her head as she increased her pace, her feet splashing through the growing puddles in the cobbled streets, water seeping through her trainers and socks as she broke into a jog.

Grey clouds drifted overhead, flowing and roiling into one another as the wind picked up.

The coastal town of Whitby, in North Yorkshire, was proving to be as rainy as any Hermione had ever seen, even having only been in the town for a week.

She supposed it was to be expected, in a fishing town on England's north coast.

Rattling the gate leading up to the front gardens of her temporary cottage home, Hermione slipped through the yard and into the house, stopping once inside the threshold to remove her soiled footwear and jacket.

Trembling from the cold, brought on by the sudden deterioration of the weather, she made her way into the small kitchen and set the kettle to heat on the stove. She sank into the couch as she waited, wrapping herself tightly in a thick, well-worn knitted blanket.

Once the deep chill in her bones began to subside, Hermione drew her book from the end table and opened it to the marked page. Her eyes flitted across the pages until the kettle started to whistle, and she rose to make herself a strong cup of Earl Grey.

An absent smile graced her lips as she returned to her book.

* * *

It was another three days before the sun came out – but it did so, in a spectacular fashion, and the beauteous intrigue of the small town was abundant.

Hermione had taken a part-time job upon moving to Whitby at one of the local restaurants, which – she had been told repeatedly – served the best fried haddock along the coast. In all of England, if you asked some of the long-time Whitby inhabitants

Being early in June, the tourists were plentiful, and her days were long; she arrived home most days bone-weary and mentally exhausted. It was just what Hermione had been hoping for when she had left bustling London – with its heavy host of melancholy memories – for a quiet summer before her eighth year was to begin.

A summer free of the pain and the terror of war. A summer, Hermione hoped, in which she could begin to heal.

Harry and Ron had taken her leaving London as an inherent representation of her leaving them. And no matter how she tried to explain that she needed to get away – for herself and that it was nothing to do with them – they had taken it harder than she would have liked.

She hadn't known how to explain to them that the spell she had cast on her parents was permanent, according to every healer she had spoken to. How, for the rest of her life, Patrick and Jean Granger would only exist tucked within a shattered corner of her heart.

And Whitby, with its crumbling abbey high on the cliff – with its idyllic landscapes and the ever-present odour of fish – brought with it some of her fondest memories of her parents.

Many summers ago, it had been, that they had last vacationed in the seaside town.

But as the omniscient scent of the commercial fisheries assailed her senses, the recollections were brought forth with a strength Hermione hadn't expected. She had spent much of the trip into town with silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

And after she had met with her new landlord, and unpacked her meagre possessions into her cottage, she had spent two days in a semi-catatonic, mournful state.

The day after that she had made her way down the road to see about a job. She didn't have the means to afford the cottage on the modest savings she had left for herself when her parents went to Australia – and she feared she would never begin to move on if she didn't keep her mind occupied.

She wasn't very proficient as a server, she had quickly learned, but the long hours and the manual work kept her heart light enough. And the fresh sea air kept her mind in a gentle state of ease.

The pain of losing her parents would never fully pass, Hermione knew, but at least they were living their lives, together. It was infinitely preferable to them having been unwitting victims in a war they knew nothing about, and for that Hermione would always be grateful.

And so she pushed through, each day, even as the dark clouds threatened to encroach – both figuratively and literally.

And her wand, lying at the bottom of her trunk, hadn't been touched.

* * *

"Hermione!" Etta barked, from across the diner.

Hermione smiled at her customer as she set down a generous portion of haddock and chips, before making her way to the kitchen where her employer was working tirelessly as always. Etta's dark hair was tied back in a messy bun, her weather-worn skin making her look older than her thirty years.

"What is it?" she asked, stopping by the sink to wash her hands. It was always a long shower to get the feel of fried food off her skin.

"Finn is out sick today," Etta explained, even as she handily loaded a plate. "I need you to go down to the docks and receive our shipment."

"Me?" Hermione asked in surprise. She still found it both ironic and amusing that the fishmonger was named Finn.

"Yes," Etta said distractedly. "Celeste will mind your tables while you're gone. It's too busy back here or I'd make the run myself."

"Sure," Hermione said with a shrug. It was a beautiful day outside and she could use the fresh air. Sometimes, since spending so much time on the run, being indoors for long periods of time had a tendency to make her restless.

"You know which ship?" Etta asked, looking up from her work.

Hermione nodded, offering her employer a reassuring smile. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Great," Etta said with a sigh of relief. "Hermione, I appreciate it."

Hermione made her way outside with a brief wave to Celeste, the other server working, and began the short trek from the diner to the wharf.

The docks were always loud and bustling – fishing vessels and workers moving in and out, tourists and residents bartering with the mongers, and a few opportunists who were always set up cooking and selling fresh-caught fish by the fillet.

There was something about it that always made her smile.

On an ordinary day, Finn would make their delivery himself straight to the diner, being a good friend of Etta's, but Hermione knew well enough where to go to receive the fish for the day.

Making her way through the crowds to the pier where the ship they purchased from unloaded, Hermione spotted one of the fishermen she knew from interactions at the diner, a scruffy middle-aged man who went by Brix.

He gave her a roguish grin; his skin was tanned from immeasurable hours at sea.

"You're runnin' the shipment today?" Brix asked, and Hermione returned the smile easily.

"That's right," Hermione said, moving forward to inspect the bin of fish the way Etta had taught her. "Someone's got to, what with Finn slacking off."

Brix barked a laugh as he hopped off his ship. Then he turned back, shouting, "Lad! Come give a hand, then!"

"Oh, I've got it just fine, Brix," Hermione said, eyeing the wheels at the bottom of the bin.

"Heavy," Brix grunted, and Hermione's eyes flickered toward his ship as well as a flash of blond hair emerged from the ship's cabin. Something jolted in her stomach – the shade of blond was so similar to Malfoy's that Hermione had momentarily felt ill.

But then the crewmate turned and a breath snagged in Hermione's throat.

Beneath the black aviator sunglasses, the thin layer of stubble along the jaw, Hermione could make out the pointed features of the man. It  _was_  Malfoy. With the slight tan to his features, his blond hair stood out even more.

"What in the name of Merlin," she breathed to herself, eyes wide as he turned to her.

" _What the fuck_!" Malfoy exclaimed, his mouth dropping open as he removed his sunglasses as if seeing her clearer would change who she was.

Oblivious to the exchange, Brix waved a hand towards her. "Give the lass a hand to the diner, then," he said.

"I don't need a hand," Hermione said quickly, even as her eyes narrowed in the blond's direction.

Whatever shock or surprise he had experienced initially had passed as Malfoy stormed off the ship and onto the pier, his grey eyes narrowing.

"Tell me this is a nightmare," he hissed, his voice low.

"I wish," Hermione returned harshly, her lip curling at the sight of him. "What are  _you_  doing in Whitby?"

"The fuck does it look like, Granger?" Malfoy asked, sneering, his words dripping with contempt. "Making a living, aren't I?"

"It  _looks_  like you're doing Muggle work, getting dirt under your precious fingernails," Hermione spat, glowering at him. She shot a cautious glance at Brix, who was preoccupied with adjusting some lengths of rope.

"Always were fucking observant, weren't you?" he growled, letting out a long exhale. He squeezed his eyes tightly and blinked them open, no less full of animosity. "Tell me you're only visiting."

"For the summer," Hermione said, tossing her hair back. "You?"

"Fuck!" he cursed, running a hand through his windblown hair. Hermione was pleased to note the filthy state of said fingernails. "You had better keep out of my way, Granger. Move the fucking fish yourself."

With that he stormed back down the pier and onto the ship, ignoring Brix's stunned expression.

"Really, I've got them," Hermione said, feeling her heart race and her stomach roll as she stared at the ship onto which Malfoy had vanished. "I'll bring the barrel back once I've got them to the diner."

"Finn will get it tomorrow," Brix said with a dismissive wave of the hand, even as he frowned towards his ship. "You know him, then, obviously?"

"Unfortunately," Hermione grunted. She didn't owe Malfoy anything, even a good word with his employer.

"Quiet fellow, but a hard worker, seems like. Most I've ever heard him say," Brix muttered with a shrug. "You sure you got that, then?"

"Absolutely," Hermione said, forcing a smile as she demonstrated by pushing the bin ahead. "Thanks for the fish, Brix!"

"Yeah," Brix said absently, nodding, "tell Etta hello."

"Will do," Hermione said, swallowing the sour taste in her mouth borne of the encounter, and began the two-block trek back to the diner with her barrel of fish on ice.

* * *

Hermione frowned as she soaked her sore muscles in the bath – with a generous scoop of Epsom salts – that evening.

What in the name of Merlin was  _Malfoy_  doing working in the fisheries of Whitby? He was the last person Hermione would ever have guessed would work in such a grueling trade. But yet… she had seen it herself.

It was obvious he was the same arsehole he had always been. She didn't relish the thought of sharing this small town with him until the end of August, but she had already signed a lease and secured summer employment.

Besides, if she left Whitby it would be a concession of defeat and she was not willing to give him that sort of power.

If Malfoy was returning to Hogwarts in September, she didn't need to give him anything to hold over her. She had been hoping the fresh school year might be a chance to finally pursue her academics in peace.

She needed her NEWTs, of course, since Hermione didn't fancy the idea of working in a Muggle diner for the rest of her life, despite that the simplicity of Muggle life was well-suited for the time being.

By the time September came, Hermione would be ready to return to the wizarding world.

But still, she could only wonder what had brought Malfoy to the same seaside town as her. And she couldn't fight the creeping suspicion that she would most assuredly see him again.

* * *

Hermione glanced up at the soft ping of the door that announced a customer. Plastering a smile on her face, she made her way from the kitchen to the entrance, the expression broadening into a grin upon seeing Finn and Brix crossing the threshold.

"Your table's open," Hermione said, sweeping in with a stack of menus. "Just the two of you?"

"O' course it is," Brix said with a chuckle. "We'll have two more coming, the dawdlers."

She distributed four menus before walking off to collect two ales, already knowing what Finn and Brix would be drinking.

"You must be too smart to be working in a diner," Finn said with a smile when she delivered their drinks. Hermione snickered and opened her mouth to respond when the ping of the door went again.

Stepping away to greet the new customers, Hermione froze on the spot when she saw Malfoy's pale blond hair, her eyes narrowing and lip curling on instinct.

Malfoy stopped in the entrance, faltering in the middle of the conversation he'd been having with one of the other young men on Brix's crew. Hermione watched as his eyes darted back to the door through which he had just walked.

As if he was considering whether he ought to turn and leave.

"Malfoy," Hermione ground through her teeth. She nodded in greeting, without removing her gaze from his face.

His nose wrinkled and his lip curled into a sneer; he strode past her and dropped into the seat beside Brix, his companion following with an amused look.

Hermione found herself wishing he had left Whitby. She took a long breath, plastered on a fake smile once more, and stepped forward to take their order.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was out for a walk one evening in mid-June, the sun still warm and the air humid. As she had several times before, she made the climb to the East Cliff, upon which the ruins of the Whitby Abbey were still located.

There was something peaceful and reassuring about the quiet stillness of the wreck.

Settling down on the stone of the cliff, a safe distance from the edge, Hermione could see most of the town and the mouth of the River Esk, feeding into the fisheries and the pier, where countless ships sat ported for the night.

Most of the tourists had left the ruins for the evening, and as the sun began to set the temperature dropped, a chill breeze lifting into the air.

Donning her coat, Hermione wrapped her arms around her bent knees to in an effort to hold in the last vestiges of her bodily warmth, even as dark clouds rolled in.

Making to begin her descent before the storm hit, Hermione hurried past the ruins, but her vision caught on a flash of brightness and she spun, her heart stalling.

"Malfoy?" she asked, freezing on the spot.

He had been gazing out, his feet hanging precariously over the edge of the cliff. His eyes opened and narrowed when he noticed her. But then he shook his hair back, looking up to the sky as the first drops of rain came down.

He adjusted his hood over his head and ignored her.

"It's going to storm," Hermione stated, wincing at her own unnecessary statement of the obvious.

"You think," Malfoy stated, his voice empty of its usual sneering malice. "I'm no weather-whatchamacallit, Granger, but I think I figured that one out on my own."

"A meteorologist," Hermione stated, and at his sharp glare, she pressed her lips together. "Anyways, you ought to get off the cliff. Lightning, you know."

"Bugger off, Granger," Malfoy grumbled, wrapping his arms around himself as the wind whipped through, picking up speed and intensity.

Hermione hesitated, but another hostile glare thrown her way startled her into action again, and she began her descent of the cliff, back into the town. But when she glanced back Malfoy remained frozen on the edge of the cliff, his head down.

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance, and Hermione flinched.

"Come on," she ground out, wrapping her hands across her front as the wind tore through her thin coat. "Go back to town."

"My safety is not your concern, Granger," Malfoy said, his tone defeated as he continued gazing out at the sea.

"Fine," Hermione snapped, stepping away to begin her descent again.

"If you're so bothered," Malfoy drawled, glancing back at her, "just Apparate into town."

"I don't have my wand," Hermione replied, as flippant as she could manage, even as heavy, cold rain began pouring down on them. The last thing she wanted to do was to ask him to side-along Apparate her down, but it would be a long hike.

"Short-sighted of you," Malfoy commented. "I don't have a wand either, so if you're waiting for an offer, it isn't coming. You might as well get going."

There was another massive clap of thunder, followed instantly by a forked spike of lightning over the mouth of the river. Cringing, Hermione shot him a glare and carried on.

"Don't blame me when you get struck by lightning," she hissed, turning her head.

To her surprise, Malfoy rolled his eyes and rose to his feet, adjusting his hood over his head. He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his jumper, tossing his drenched hair back from his forehead, where it was plastered to his skin.

"I haven't got a bloody death wish, Granger," he grumbled, following at a distance behind her.

The wind screamed past with a strength that nearly pushed her back with each step. The rain pelting them felt like tiny pins of ice, soaking through her clothes in an instant.

Cursing Malfoy beneath her breath for detaining her, she continued past the ruins as thunder and lightning grew nearer.

Malfoy ducked away from the path, and Hermione heard his voice call something out only faintly, despite their close proximity. Another burst of thunder rattled the cliff. She turned in time to see Malfoy skirting into the entrance of the ruins, and she hesitated.

It was a long walk back into Whitby, and while the ruins would offer some protection from the elements, she would have no means of warming up. Scowling, her lips pressed into a thin line, she turned and followed the blond into the ruins.

The air was cool, but the nearest section of the abbey was still held together well enough that it blocked most of the wild winds and ferocious rain of the storm. Malfoy was leaned against one wall, his jacket soaked through and his hair plastered to his head as he removed his hood.

"We'll have to wait it out," he grumbled, sinking to the floor and tossing his arms over his bent knees. "But kindly don't speak to me."

"Fine by me," Hermione replied, frowning as she found a half-crumbled bench to sit on.

She shivered as her wet clothes settled against her skin, her teeth chattering as the thunder and lightning carried on outside. She couldn't be sure how much time had passed, but Malfoy hadn't moved, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep.

Hermione sighed as the rain pounded, relentless, on the roof, a while later. Malfoy stood and stretched his neck, one way and the other before his eyes settled on her and narrowed.

"What?" he snapped. He folded his arms as he leaned against the wall again.

"Why don't you have your wand?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"I could say the same to you, Granger," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. He chewed on his tongue for a moment, before saying, "The Ministry has it. Happy?"

Hermione stared at him, and his lip curled into a sneer. "I left mine in my cottage."

"Smart," Malfoy said with a snicker.

"Some of us don't need to rely on magic," Hermione hissed, her eyes narrowing at his cruel attitude.

"Right," he said, clicking his tongue. He pushed away from the wall and took a step closer. "How could I forget? You're part Muggle after all."

"Oh, would you grow up," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "The war ended, or did you miss the memo? Your side lost, Malfoy. You could try to be a little more accepting."

"Fuck you, Granger," he spat. "And your bloody self-righteous bullshit –"

"Shut  _up_ , Malfoy," Hermione said, turning away, even as she felt her blood rising. "What, the Ministry took your magic as punishment? That's why you're working on the docks? How long?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but a year," he growled. "Unless I return to Hogwarts, then I'll get it back 1st September."

"So you aren't?" she asked, privately hoping he wouldn't. "I'm surprised, Malfoy. I thought you'd take any opportunity to wave your  _superiority_  in other people's faces."

She punctuated the word with air quotes.

"Don't talk about things you don't understand," Malfoy said, his tone stiff and cold. His grey eyes burned into hers as he took another step closer.

"Right, because you aren't superior at all," Hermione continued, rising to her feet as her blood boiled in her veins. He was close enough to tower over her. "Because you're just a spoiled, pureblood git who never considers anyone else –"

"You don't know anything about me!" Malfoy shouted, his chest heaving, his eyes tearing into her with loathing. His hands shook with rage.

Hermione froze, startled. The walls shook with another clap of thunder, and beyond the entrance, a brilliant flash of lightning.

"You don't," Malfoy seethed, stalking closer, "know a  _fucking_  thing about me."

Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide. She wished, now more than ever since she had come to Whitby, that her wand wasn't locked in the bottom of her trunk.

"You're right," she finally breathed, her voice trembling with the fear she couldn't quite suppress. "And I don't want to."

His jaw clenched and his grey eyes held hers; his lip curled but he tore away, storming out into the squall without another word.

Hermione didn't follow.

* * *

It was well into the night when the storm finally subsided. Hermione, frozen to the bone, made her way home as quickly as she could manage and collapsed into bed.

She could only imagine Malfoy made it back, but if she was honest, she was too cold and exhausted to care.

Once asleep, she was haunted by nightmares of pain and a drawing room with a crystal chandelier – of burning objects in a vault – of a great and terrible snake. The old, common ones that still left her shaking and rattled all the same. This time, accompanied by flashes of platinum blond and grey eyes.

The next day, fueled by only a few hours of sleep and several cups of strong, black coffee at the diner, Hermione attempted to drag herself through work, all too aware of the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"You look terrible," Etta said bluntly with an appraising eye. "If you're coming down with something, do us all a favour and go home."

Hermione didn't even have the energy to argue, so as Celeste took over her section, she carted herself the few blocks to her cottage and promptly fell back into a deep sleep, mercifully free of terrors.

* * *

Two weeks passed before Hermione saw Malfoy again – two weeks in which she had fought a desperate sort of hope that he had left Whitby and wouldn't return.

But of course, she knew better than to cling to such a futile hope.

So when she saw him, his cold grey eyes staring at her across the festivities of a town gathering, she felt a shiver creep down the length of her spine.

The contrast was bizarre – the very fact of seeing Malfoy at a cheerful gathering left her feeling stricken.

"I was hoping I wouldn't see you again," he mentioned as they ran into one another at the refreshments table.

His skin was starting to develop the permanent weather-worn sort of tan all the other fishermen had, and his hands were far from immaculate. Her eyes swept across the dirt that seemed to be embedded in his cuticles with a sort of cruel satisfaction.

"Same to you," Hermione replied coolly, scooping a ladle of punch into a cup. "Looks as if neither of us got our wish, doesn't it?"

"Unfortunately," he drawled, and a ghost of a smirk appeared on his features – one Hermione hadn't seen in a long time, and it felt like so much longer. "Watch the punch. A few of the crew were talking about spiking it."

"How unoriginal," Hermione scoffed, even as she poured the cup out and filled it with water instead. "I'm surprised you told me. I'd think you would rather see me embarrass myself."

"Believe it or not, Granger," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes with a shake of the head. "I don't live to make you miserable. I'm trying my best to move on, same as you."

"Right," Hermione snorted, "it didn't seem that way on the cliff. That  _must_ be why you continue to be awful to me."

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowed as he absently picked at a pile of sliced vegetables on his paper plate. The scene looked entirely out of place for someone so entitled. Hermione would have laughed if the whole thing hadn't felt so awkward, as if she were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Pray tell, Granger," he finally said, his jaw clenching. "Just how am I being awful to you right now? Suppose I should have let you get yourself wasted on the punch, then."

He shook his head in irritated disbelief, his eyes rolling, and made to stride off.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, grinding her teeth. He turned back, raising one pale eyebrow. Hermione pressed her lips together, and let out a long exhale. "You aren't. Being awful."

He nodded pointedly and walked away to where Brix and the rest of his crew were. Hermione made her way back to where Etta and Celeste stood with Finn, who seemed to be several glasses of punch in.

"Friend of yours?" Etta asked with an amused grin, eyeing up Malfoy across the square.

"Hardly," Hermione said with a sneer, biting into a cube of cheese from her plate. At Etta's raised eyebrow, Hermione sighed but continued. "We went to school with one another. We weren't friends."

"And yet you're both here in Whitby," Celeste mused, sharing a glance with Etta. "Must be a sign."

"Absolutely not," Hermione said, cringing at the thought. Though she couldn't help but wonder why Malfoy had been somewhat amenable, especially considering the biting words they had shared the last time she had seen him, trapped in the abbey ruins.

And when she looked back across the square, he seemed to be watching her with, if she wasn't mistaken, some sort of curiosity.


	3. Chapter 3

It was storming in Whitby, the likes of which Hermione hadn't seen since the night she had been stranded up on the East Cliff.

Tourists and fisheries workers had been taking shelter in the diner all day, waiting for the worst of it to subside. But yet the storm had raged on, black clouds rolling past in high winds, claps of thunder and brilliant flashes of lightning.

"I don't envy those boys," Finn was saying to Etta, leaning against the counter as Hermione joined them and the three of them watched the storm from inside. "And I don't blame the ones that chose not to go out at all, either."

"Neither do I," Etta said, shaking her head. "Those waters aren't friendly on a day like this."

"Brix is one crazy son-of-a-bitch to be out there today," Finn said, taking a drink of his ale.

"Brix took his ship out?" Etta said, her eyes widening. "Is he mad?"

"'Course he is," Finn said, chuckling. "Those boys of his had better have strong stomachs."

Hermione froze, feeling the blood drain from her face. For as much as she didn't care about Malfoy, they had reached a sort of tentative truce at the town celebration the week before, and she couldn't imagine he was very experienced with the high seas during inclement weather.

"When are they getting back?" she asked, suddenly breathless.

"Who knows," Finn said with a grimace. "Should be around now, unless they've run into trouble."

Etta frowned, watching Hermione for a minute. "Someone ought to go down to the docks and see that they've arrived." She stared at Hermione, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll go," Hermione breathed, though the last thing she wanted to do was leave the warm, dry diner.

"Very well then," Etta said, failing to cover a smirk. "I'll have Celeste watch your tables. They're all just loitering and drinking tea anyway." She said the last louder, and some of the nearby patrons grinned.

Cursing herself and her sudden inclination to be sure Malfoy was alright all the while, Hermione bundled herself in a jumper and her raincoat, wishing she had her wand to cast a warming charm.

Then she made her way through the screaming wind and the pelting rain to the docks.

* * *

"Nothin'?" Finn asked some time later as he approached her on the dock, squinting into the growing darkness.

"Nothing yet," Hermione said, chewing her lip. "Anything on the radios?"

"They've got shite service in this weather," Finn said, shaking his head. "Brix is one of the best. He'll get that ship home."

Hermione nodded, even as her body quaked with shivers, her frozen fingers wrapped tightly around herself.

"You ought to go home," Finn said, "you'll freeze out here and it won't do nothing about getting them back to town." He cast her a conspiratorial smile. "I'll let the blond one know you was waitin'."

"Don't," Hermione hissed before she could stop herself. "I just want to be sure Brix and the crew are fine."

"Right," Finn said, nodding. "O' course. The crew."

"You're as bad as Etta," Hermione said, disgruntled. "I don't have any interest in Malfoy. I just know him from school, is all. I'd prefer not to see him drowned."

"Not my business," Finn said, holding up his hands in surrender. "But you better at least go to the diner and warm up. I'll come by when they get in."

"Fine," Hermione conceded. "But let us know."

With a frown and one last gaze out towards the tumultuous, roiling sea, Hermione made her way back to the diner. And though it was past closing time, Etta had left the diner open to accommodate a small gathering of concerned residents.

Hermione poured herself a cup of hot tea and settled into a seat beside the window, where Celeste was already sitting vigil.

"My brother is in Brix's crew too," Celeste informed her quietly. The girl was pale, wringing her hands.

"They'll be fine," Hermione said, wishing she believed her own words. "Brix is one of the best."

* * *

It was past midnight when Finn burst through the door of the diner, Brix at his heels.

Hermione felt a breath of relief escape her lungs as a huff of air. The crew, shaken and soaked but unharmed, followed in.

Etta jumped up to brew a fresh pot of tea, and someone passed around a mixed stack of blankets. Celeste leapt from her seat with a cry of relief and embraced one of the soaking crew members, whom Hermione presumed to be her brother.

Swallowing a heavy lump in her throat, Hermione scoured the faces of the crew settling into the diner with hot cups of tea.

Then she saw a flash of sopping wet platinum, and despite everything through which they had ever put one another, she was only glad he was alive and he was standing there, looking out of place, cocooned in a hand-knitted blanket in shades of blue and pink.

Malfoy noticed her and his eyes widened as his eyebrows shot up. He walked over, fixing her with a cautious stare.

" _Don't_  tell me you were concerned," he said, the slightest hint of a sneer crossing his face. But it wasn't his usual, tempered with malice and aggression, and if Hermione didn't know any better, she would have thought there was a sort of teasing mockery in his tone.

"Of course I wasn't," Hermione said, even as she sniffled.

"Hermione, Celeste!" Etta shouted across the diner.

Hermione tensed, rising from her seat and making her way to the kitchen without looking straight at Malfoy. Etta was hard at work, preparing hot plates of fish and chips for the crew. Hermione and Celeste made quick work of distributing the dishes around the diner.

Malfoy and Celeste's brother had claimed their table against the window by the time everyone was digging into a hot meal with echoing sentiments of gratitude, and when Celeste took the seat beside her brother, wide-eyed, Hermione slid into the chair beside Malfoy, hovering at the far edge of her seat.

"So what happened?" Celeste asked, fixing her brother with a bright stare.

"It was rough," her brother responded, and Malfoy nodded, sipping his tea. "We got caught in the storm only two hours after we went out. Nearly ran out of fuel."

"We were lucky Brix is such a good sailor," Malfoy said, his tone soft. Hermione didn't recognize it.

"Bloody  _lucky_  is right," Celeste's brother echoed with a grimace. "If it weren't for Brix we'd all be at the bottom of the sea."

Celeste shifted in her seat and grasped her brother's forearm.

Malfoy sheared a piece of fish with careful deliberation, and his table etiquette was so impeccable Hermione nearly laughed aloud, despite the situation.

He chewed the bite, then hooked a thumb in Hermione's direction, turning to Celeste. "Don't tell me this one was actually concerned if I lived or died?"

Celeste snickered and glanced at Hermione. "It's hard to say. I mean, she waited at the dock in the storm for two hours before coming back here."

Hermione felt a hot flush rise to her cheeks as Malfoy cocked his head and a smirk came to his lips.

"I didn't," Hermione said, her voice coming out high pitched. She swatted Celeste on the arm, avoiding Malfoy's gaze by staring at the tablecloth. "Etta said someone ought to check on the ship."

"Of course," Malfoy said, returning to his meal. "Absolutely, that takes two hours."

Hermione pressed her lips together and huffed a breath through her nose. She could feel Malfoy's gaze on her and refused to look at him, cursing the flush she knew she wore.

As the crew finished their meal and started to trickle out of the diner, stopping to talk to Brix and Etta on their way out, Hermione recognized the all-encompassing exhaustion that had crept over her.

"I'm going home," she announced to the table. She looked at Celeste's brother – Mark – and then briefly at Malfoy. "I'm relieved you've all made it through the storm."

Malfoy jumped to his feet after her. "I'll walk you home."

Surprised, Hermione turned to him, her eyes wide. Perhaps he had caught a fever. "I'll be just fine, thanks."

"Granger," he intoned, gesturing to the door with a tilt of his head.

Hermione sighed and followed, stopping to say goodbye to Etta and Brix, where they sat in intense conversation over a cuppa.

"We'll open late tomorrow," Etta informed her. "Get some rest."

Nodding, Hermione left the diner, hoping she had lost Malfoy. But she frowned as he came up alongside her, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Where do you live?" he asked, breaking the tense silence between them.

"Not far," Hermione said, glancing at him as she gestured with a vague hand down the street. "You don't need to walk with me. I imagine you're quite cold and tired."

"Yes," he murmured, "I am."

Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded, making a brisk pace down the road towards her street. To her irritation and simultaneous bewilderment, Malfoy kept up with her.

He was silent as they walked, and Hermione chanced a look in his direction – he looked equally awkward and thoughtful.

"Granger," he said, turning to her as they approached her cottage.

"Here it is," she said on a quick breath, cutting him off. "Thanks for walking me."

"Granger," he repeated, raising an eyebrow. Hermione turned to him, having to look up to meet his gaze. He chewed his tongue for a moment, looking put out with himself. "Thanks – for caring that I was alive."

Hermione stared at him, her brow furrowing.

Why  _had_  she cared so much to wait at the dock for so long, and at the diner for even longer? When had Malfoy become someone whose existence she concerned herself with?

He was simply someone she knew from home, someone from Hogwarts, from the wizarding world.

Or maybe it was that the two of them were sort of in the same boat, here in Whitby. That they were both – as he had put it – attempting to move past the dark mess that their lives had become.

"Right," she found herself saying. "I wouldn't wish you dead, Malfoy, no matter everything we've been through."

"I was genuinely surprised to see you," he said, looking as if he couldn't quite make sense of a puzzle. He frowned for a long moment, skimming a puddle on the street with his toe; Hermione watched as the water soaked through his boot. "It's odd, having someone here who gives a rat's arse if I live or die. Especially since it's you."

Hermione wished he would go home. She hadn't the slightest idea what to say to him.

"You told me you were trying to move on," she finally said, the quiet sentiment hanging between them in the cold street. As if that explained everything.

"Yes," he murmured. He swallowed, his lips parted, brow furrowed as if he wanted to say something more. But then he snapped his mouth shut and nodded. "Well, goodnight Granger. Thanks for the fish."

"You caught it," Hermione said with a chuckle.

"Suppose I probably did," he said, and that smirk was on his face again as he turned and walked back down the street in the direction from which they had come.

* * *

In the course of the week following the storm in which Brix's crew had nearly failed to return to Whitby, Hermione didn't see Malfoy once. A part of her was thankful. She wasn't entirely sure what had driven her to wait to be sure he was safe, and her vehement internal denial that her concern was for the rest of the crew felt weak and half-hearted.

The way Malfoy had walked her back to her cottage afterward had felt awkward and uncomfortable, as if they had crossed some unspoken line that rivals were meant to keep away from.

And his gratitude had felt oddly genuine – the last was what had kept Hermione's mind preoccupied the most.

Surely she had never heard gratitude from Malfoy –  _surely_ , it wasn't a trait Malfoys knew how to express. But yet, there had been something disturbingly honest within his grey eyes.

It had kept her awake more than she would like to admit.

It was raining again, the sky grey and dreary, but as Hermione left the diner for the day, the first rays of sun began to peek through the clouds.

Deciding to linger in the streets rather than return home, Hermione made her way to the pier. There was something peaceful and absorbing in the way the sunset fell upon the river, and Hermione stopped at the docks, waving at Finn from a distance.

She dawdled as she made her way down the pier, leaning over the railing to see the way the myriad shades of blues and purples and oranges reflected off the cold water, the way the gentle waves lapped against the wooden dock as they rolled in with the relentless tide.

It truly was beautiful in Whitby, even on rainy days, which seemed to be the case as often as not.

In the time since she had left London, following a brief stay after leaving Hogwarts, Hermione found the salty air and the peaceful community had done wonders for her war-ravaged mind, her broken and shattered heart.

She didn't even miss her magic all that much – it was remarkable how quickly her dependence on a wand had reverted to a simple Muggle existence.

If she was honest, more than once she had considered the thought that she might like to stay in Whitby. But she had bigger dreams than a small seaside town, despite how the town and its people had come to grow on her in such an absolute way.

A presence stirred Hermione from her thoughts, startling her to the realities of the pier.

"Granger," he murmured, folding his arms on the railing as he gazed out to sea.

"Malfoy," Hermione responded, chewing the inside of her lower lip. She hadn't been prepared to see him – in fact, she had been hoping she wouldn't.

But he didn't speak again for a long while, and Hermione relaxed in the unassuming silence between them.

"It's more than I thought it would be," he finally said. "This place. Working on a fishing vessel." He snickered, looking down at the wooden railing, the wood soft and worn from the salt and sun.

"I know what you mean," Hermione said softly, grateful for the light, easy conversation. "I wasn't expecting to like it so much here."

Malfoy fell silent once more and stared back out at the sunset, and when Hermione glanced over his expression was pensive; the colours of the sky reflected off his pale hair and summer-tanned skin.

"But," Hermione continued, biting her lower lip, "I also can't say I would have expected to see you working on a fishing vessel, either."

"Figured if I was going Muggle I might as well go all in," he murmured, and Hermione saw a smirk twist his lips.

"And you've survived, I see," Hermione mused, fighting a smile of her own.

"Hardly," he said, shooting her a look.

Hermione chuckled despite herself and shook her head.

"Brix has been more cautious," he said, turning back to the sea again. "I think even he was rattled that day. And it's hard to rattle that man."

"I can believe that," Hermione murmured. "He seems to know a lot about sailing."

"Everything you can imagine," Malfoy agreed. "He's a great captain. You know, in my limited frame of reference."

Hermione caught herself on a giggle. Why on earth was she reacting to him in this way – and why was he being so amenable in the first place?

"Are you all finished for the day, then?" she asked, her tone more clipped than she intended.

"Yes," Malfoy said, pressing his lips together. His brow furrowed and his shoulders tensed as he made to push himself away from the railing. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Hermione frowned, her eyes flickering to his and quickly away again.

"I assumed so," she found herself saying. "You smell like you've turned into a fish yourself."

Malfoy snorted but remained beside her, retaking his place at the rail. "Part of the job.  _You_  smell like  _fried_ fish."

"Part of the job," Hermione mimicked softly.

He looked at her and rolled his eyes, but the mockery felt empty.

"Here's something else I didn't expect," Hermione said, allowing a smile to slip to her features. " _You_  with a tan. I would have thought your pasty skin might have gone up in flames in direct sunlight."

"Ha-fucking-ha, Granger," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "Believe it or not, I've spent enough time out on that ship that I  _should_ have a tan by now." He paused, chewing his tongue. "Though you ought to have seen me for the first few days."

"That bad?" Hermione asked with a grimace, knowing all too well the pain of a bad sunburn.

"Absolute lobster," he said with a nod, pressing his lips together. "I've never wished for burn paste so badly in my life."

She snickered, turning to him. Opening her mouth to continue the jape, she suddenly froze. Malfoy was grinning – never before had she seen such genuine enjoyment on his face – and with the way the sunset caught in his blond hair and the golden stubble on his jaw –

She huffed a breath, snapping her mouth shut. A sudden shiver crept down the length of her spine. She swallowed and fell silent, her brow furrowing.

Malfoy took a step away from the railing again. His brows flickered as he glanced at her, the air between them tense once more.

"I'd better get going," he clipped.

"Where do you live?" Hermione found herself asking, despite the slight relief she felt that their short and unexpected conversation was ending.

"On Cliff Street," he murmured, "near the whale watching."

"Right," Hermione said, nodding. "I've wanted to try that someday."

"Brix has pointed out a few pods," he said with a sort of one-shoulder shrug. "It'll be worthwhile."

"Noted," Hermione said, and it seemed as if the easy atmosphere between them had all but vanished. "Well, enjoy your evening."

"Same to you, Granger."

And with that, he turned and walked away down the pier. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in a sudden chill.


	4. Chapter 4

Several days after her encounter with Malfoy at the pier, Hermione was startled to see an owl tapping at her window. For a brief moment, it was like stepping through a portal into a different world. Then she blinked as a second owl flew up beside the first.

Shaking off the odd sensation of seeing owl post in Whitby, Hermione removed the scrolls from each of their legs, scrounging up a snack for the owls, and watching as they flew away alongside one another.

Then she sat down with a cup of tea and read them.

_Hermione_

_How is Whitby? Hopefully you aren't tired of rain and fish. We've just received our Hogwarts letters. Are you going to Diagon Alley soon to pick up supplies? We should meet and go together. Ron and I miss you. Owl us soon._

_Harry (and Ron)_

An absent smile hovered about Hermione's lips for a few moments as she reread the short missive from Harry. She suspected her best friend had exaggerated the extent to which Ron missed her. He had been rather sour when she had decided to leave London following the war, not understanding her need for solitude and simplicity.

But for years, she had put their needs before her own. The needs of the cause, of the greater good. This was something she had needed to do for herself, and she stood by that decision.

Thinking to respond later, when she could figure out a method to send a reply, given the owls had both left, Hermione set the first letter aside.

A shiny silver badge fell with a clatter from the second letter, landing on her wooden table and staring up at her obtrusively. A heavy breath caught and released in her throat. She had been offered Prefect.

The thought of returning to Hogwarts felt so unfamiliar now. Like a different life, in a different time.

She scanned the letter, hand-penned by McGonagall, mindlessly absorbing the assurances that Hogwarts would be safe and operational once more. She wondered what sort of efforts had been underway to restore the castle to its former glory.

Browsing the list of supplies she would be required to purchase, Hermione wondered whether eighth years would sit their classes with seventh, or whether they would be separate. Whether they would be housed in the same dorms or different ones.

A part of her was interested to find out. To see her friends again – and to see whether they might have a quiet, uneventful year just once.

Somehow, she doubted that would be the case.

Hermione drew a pen and a notebook from the kitchen drawer towards her, the pen hovering over paper for longer than she could say, before she finally scrawled a brief response to Harry.

Whitby was an entirely Muggle town, so Hermione's only option would be to Apparate somewhere she could find an owl post office to send her letter, given she didn't know the addresses of either Grimmauld Place or The Burrow – or indeed, where Harry was staying at all.

She tucked the letter into the pocket of her jumper, resolving to think on it.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione found herself wandering Cliff Street, vehemently telling herself it was by accident.

On the third pass, however, she stopped, startled.

Malfoy was leaning against a fence post in front of one of the small houses on the street, one eyebrow raised and his arms folded over his chest.

"You must be lost, Granger," he said. Frowning, Hermione crossed the street to where he stood, a hot flush rising in her cheeks.

She fidgeted with a loose curl as she chewed her lip. Finally she asked, "Do you have an owl I can borrow to send a letter?"

Something flickered across his face that Hermione couldn't place. Then he scoffed and shook his head.

"You were seriously stalking my street to see if I have an owl?" He pursed his lips. Hermione scowled at the sentiment, half of a mind to deny she was  _stalking_  in any capacity. "And the answer is no. My owl is still in Wiltshire with my mother."

She frowned, the words dying on her tongue. She noticed the verbiage but chose not to comment. She remembered hearing his father was on trial, but it was right before she left for Whitby, and she wondered now what that had meant for Lucius Malfoy.

"Fine," Hermione said with a sigh. "Did you get your Hogwarts letter?"

"Yes," he replied shortly, his sharp grey eyes fixed on hers. It made her self-conscious and she fought the urge to squirm under his assessing gaze.

"Interesting," she said, averting her eyes. "And are you going back?"

"Probably not," he said, the words as aloof – borderline cold – as his stance.

"Why?" Hermione asked, curiosity getting the better of her, as it had a tendency to do. "Don't you want your NEWTs? And don't you get your magic back if you go?"

Malfoy sighed, shaking his head as if annoyed with her. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Don't you have anywhere else to be, Granger?"

So their newfound camaraderie from the pier was all used up.

"It was just a question," she threw back, rolling her eyes and turning to walk away down the street. "But forget it. I'll mind my own, then."

She could practically feel the irritation rolling from him as he let out a long-suffering sigh. He unfolded his arms, scuffing the toe of one boot on the walk.

"Do you want a fucking cup of tea, Granger?" he asked, as if resigning himself to her presence.

Surprised at the sudden and unorthodox invitation, Hermione turned back and blinked at him. "Don't you have to work today?"

"Day off," he grunted.

"Okay," she breathed, the word forcing its way from her lips. "I'd like that. Thanks."

"Come in, then. Mind, take off your shoes." He turned without waiting for her to follow and stalked down the walk into the house.

Hermione, her mind spinning at the abrupt turn to a rather hostile conversation, merely trailed after him. She made a show of removing one shoe then the other, and carefully set them on the shoe rack by the door; she could have sworn she saw Malfoy's lips twitch.

He walked through a small sitting room into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Not certain what she had been expecting, Hermione looked around the small house as she followed him. It was surprisingly well-kept, with very few personal touches, apart from a framed photo atop a cupboard of a young blond boy – obviously a younger version of him – and his parents on either side.

Malfoy pulled a small wicker basket out of a drawer. "We've got Earl Grey, Darjeeling, English Breakfast," he listed, flipping through the bags, "and raspberry herbal."

"Oh," she said softly, "the raspberry please."

"Good choice," he said, plucking a packet from the collection and carefully stowing the rest away.

"So you can brew a pot of tea," Hermione said, hoping to create some levity in the tense air between them.

Malfoy snorted. "Yes, Granger, I'm not fucking useless. Surprised?"

"I never thought you were useless," she said absently, running a hand along the top of the framed photo. "A lot of things – but not useless."

She half expected him to take offense – but he smirked. "That sentiment certainly goes both ways, Granger. And let's be honest. If I can brew a draught of living death, I can brew a pot of raspberry tea."

"Fair point," Hermione said with a shrug. "Where was this photo taken?" The young boy was waving, while his parents simply faced forward, frowning.

His gaze flickered to the photo and he pressed his lips together. "It was taken on the grounds of Malfoy Manor."

"You look happy," Hermione observed.

"I was young," he clipped, pouring two cups of tea. Hermione supposed that did explain the situation as well as it needed to be explained.

"Why aren't you going back to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Will you be able to remain here when winter comes?"

"I was hoping you would let that go," he murmured, scowling. He took a seat at the kitchen table, sipping his piping hot tea. Hermione winced, suspecting he had probably burnt his tongue, but he didn't react.

She simply raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

"You Gryffindors," he shook his head, a sneer curling his lip. "A dog with a fucking bone. Fine. You want to know why? Because I would rather spend the rest of my life here covered in fish guts than face any of those self-righteous ponces who will look down on me for making an impossible decision. Because when the Dark Lord threatened to kill my mother, I did what any terrified sixteen-year-old would do and tried to save her life. And yes, it meant I did some awful things and it made me a terrible person."

Hermione blinked, the wind knocked out of her at his sudden and honest admission.

He took a sip of tea, ignoring her reaction. "And the last fucking thing I need, Granger, is to return to a place where I'll receive only hatred and judgment from your side, and resentment from those whose families supported the Dark Lord. It's easy to judge someone when you don't know what it is to walk in their shoes."

"You could have defected," Hermione breathed weakly. "If it was so terrible."

" _Could_  I have, though?" he asked, and Hermione heard only genuine wonder in the question. "Do you  _really_  suppose I could have gone to Dumbledore and the Order without signing the death warrants of both my parents?"

"Maybe not –" Hermione began.

"Did you know, Granger, that every night of my sixth year, when I managed sleep, I dreamt only of that fucking snake eating my parents alive?"

"How would I have known that?" she murmured, chancing a glance at him. His brow was furrowed, his grey eyes narrowed.

Hermione swallowed, taking a long sip of her tea. She didn't know that she wanted to continue down this path.

"For the record," she began, setting down her cup. "Being on the run wasn't exactly a picnic, either. Spending months on end chasing dead end after dead end looking for Horcruxes, living on whatever we could scavenge. Being tortured by your lunatic of an aunt  _wasn't_  fun."

She felt her heart in her chest, her blood racing through her veins and pounding in her ears.

Malfoy stared at her for a long time, his expression unreadable. Hermione wasn't certain whether he was breathing.

He was silent for so long that Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, to break the awful silence that had taken over the small kitchen, when he huffed a breath.

"I'm sorry, Granger." He sucked his teeth, looking put out. "That day –" He shook his head as if searching for words that wouldn't come. He moistened his lips. "I'm sorry I didn't do anything. Most of my nightmares now are of your screams."

Hermione blinked, surprised, the ire of moments before draining from her entirely.

She winced, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I appreciate that, Malfoy." She frowned, fidgeting with a coaster on the table. "I remember your face. It was your face – I could see the terror I felt echoed back at me – and it gave me the strength to deny her. That if  _you_  of all people thought it was wrong..." Hermione shook her head, releasing a long breath. "It's fine. It's over now, right?"

"Right," he agreed shortly. He let out a breath too. "It's all over. I just… needed to say it."

"For what it's worth, Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, "I think you have as much a right to complete your NEWTs as anyone else."

Malfoy frowned, his brow knitted.

"I don't want to go back there, Granger," he finally said, and his voice sounded uncertain. Tired. Exhausted.

"Then that's up to you," she said. "I just – I don't think people will judge you so harshly as you suspect they will."

He pressed his lips together and did something that might have been a smile or a grimace. "I think you always try to see the good in people." He frowned, and Hermione wasn't certain whether he meant it as a compliment or not. "Even when they don't deserve it."

"I don't think people are so easily defined," she reasoned, taking a drink of her tea. "And I don't think there are very many lines which cannot be un-crossed." She met his gaze, and he looked pained. "I think redemption is real, for those who care to seek it."

"I don't think everyone deserves redemption, Granger," he said quietly. Hermione could hear the words he wasn't saying.

"You aren't too far gone, Malfoy," she said, seeking out his grey eyes again. "You aren't undeserving of a better life."

"You don't know everything," he said, his voice hoarse.

Hermione couldn't remember how the conversation had come to this point. She hadn't realized they were even  _at_  this point.

"I know enough," she said. Her gaze flickered to the framed photograph of his parents. "The fact that you care to speak of the judgment of others – I don't know you well, Malfoy, but I think I'm starting to understand you. And I believe you deserve more if that's what you want. But it's yours to claim."

He swirled the dregs of his tea and took the last sip.

"They offered me a Prefect position," he finally said. "They're fucking barmy."

"Well, we already knew they were rather barmy," Hermione agreed mildly. Malfoy snickered.

"I'll consider it," he murmured, turning his head to face her. He clicked his tongue several times, debating his words. "Thanks, Granger."

"Thanks for the tea," she said in return. He simply nodded. "I'll be arranging a Portkey to go into London for books at some point before September." She took a breath, tilting her head. "If you like, I can see about procuring transport for you as well."

He huffed a breath that sounded like a laugh. "A dog with a fucking bone."

"Just a suggestion," she said idly, though a smile tugged at her lips. "I'd better get going. I've got to work the evening shift."

Malfoy shrugged, standing from the table as Hermione followed suit.

"Maybe I'll come by for supper," he said casually, walking her to the door.

"Sure," Hermione said with surprise, shrugging. "You should."

He offered a brief smile. "Then I will."


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione affixed a set of binoculars to her eyes as she gazed out into the open ocean, a sharp breath drawn from her mouth. As the vessel she was on gently rocked with the waves, she keenly observed the pod of whales playing at a distance.

"You took my advice, I see," said a voice from her right.

Startled, Hermione nearly dropped her binoculars into the waves. It was Malfoy. She blinked, not having seen him board the whale-watching tour.

"Right, well," she responded, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. She had decided to join the tour based on his suggestion, but she hadn't planned on telling  _him_  that. In fact, why was he here anyway?

He was gazing out into the water, looking at home on the steadily rocking ship, a pair of dark glasses resting on the strong bridge of his summer-tanned nose.

"On your day off, you board another ship?" Hermione mused, glancing sidelong at him.

"What can I say?" he shrugged. "I guess I'm a natural-born sailor." The corners of his lips twitched.

Feeling bold and refreshed by the crisp salty air and the wonder of the massive animals along the ship's starboard, Hermione grinned.

"And you didn't follow me on board?" she asked.

Malfoy snorted but didn't look at her. "Perhaps I noticed you had signed up. The tour registry is near the fisheries office."

Hermione was surprised at his easy admission, having been expecting a sarcastic denial of sorts.

Although, she supposed, after the awkward but honest tea they had shared, the conversation that had delved deeper into either of their minds than she had been expecting, Hermione supposed some of the barriers between them had begun to chip away.

She wasn't certain whether the idea intrigued or terrified her.

The thought that she might be becoming friends with Draco Malfoy was a strange one, especially in the context that they may potentially be returning to Hogwarts together, into an entirely different atmosphere.

If she opened up to him here – and likewise, on his end – what would become of their temporary truce after the summer was over? She had a pretty good idea.

"Fair enough," she finally responded, her mind abuzz with thoughts.

"Sometimes there are dolphins around that bay," Malfoy murmured, gesturing with his own binoculars to a spit of land some distance away. "We see them playing and jumping there quite often."

"Dolphins," Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. "Do you suppose the tour goes that way?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't know, I've never taken the tour before." He glanced at her, over the top of his sunglasses, as if he were assessing her. "Hold on."

Then he walked away without an explanation, and Hermione, baffled, returned to her binoculars, watching the pod of orcas as the ship drifted nearer, cautious not to disturb them.

Malfoy returned shortly after, leaning on the metal railing of the ship. "The tour  _will_  be going that way." His face was expressionless as Hermione turned to him. He simply raised his brows. "You can't leave Whitby without seeing the dolphins."

"I suppose not," Hermione said, chewing her lower lip.

"Although to be fair," Malfoy carried on, gazing back into the open sea, "I could have probably taken you on a tour for free."

"I don't mind paying for the tour," Hermione said quietly. The thought of venturing into the open sea with only Malfoy for company made her uneasy – and oddly restless.

"Of course," he muttered, shifting on his feet.

"Have you given Hogwarts any more thought?" Hermione asked with a smile.

"I have, yes," he replied, rather vaguely. The smirk on his lips suggested he realized as much. "And I have yet to make a decision."

"I'm meeting Harry and Ron in Diagon Alley next week," Hermione carried on, glancing at him.

Malfoy scoffed. "No, Granger. I'm not going with you and your golden friends."

Stung, Hermione frowned. "I wasn't going to suggest you join us. I was merely letting you know because I've arranged a Portkey." She rolled her eyes and pushed away from the railing, her stomach turning again at the thought of growing too friendly with him. Case in point. "But never mind."

Malfoy pursed his lips as Hermione walked away, taking up a new post further down. She knew it was childish, but she wasn't there to argue.  _Or_  to defend her friends.

Once she had spoken to the Ministry she had managed to get word to Harry and Ron about the day she would be going to Diagon Alley. They had confirmed the day by return owl.

Hermione was chatting with some tourists on the ship when Malfoy came up again, fixing her with narrowed eyes. Hermione simply raised a brow at him and returned to her lookout.

"No need to storm off," he said bitterly. "Obviously, Potter, Weasley and I aren't friends."

"Obviously," Hermione replied stiffly. "And neither are we, when it comes down to it."

If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn Malfoy flinched at the declaration. Then he chewed his tongue and said, "You're right. We aren't."

Hermione sighed, waving her hands in frustration. "I shouldn't have asked. Forget it."

Malfoy scowled, falling silent. Hermione forgot to watch the whales as the ship began moving in a different direction.

The frown faded from her face, taking with it her sour demeanour, as the ship approached the bay Malfoy had told her about and she saw a group of dolphins playing and jumping in the waves. Instantly she lifted her binoculars to better observe them, a smile drifting to her face again, her annoyance with Malfoy dissipating.

He stewed silently beside her and Hermione did her best to ignore him and enjoy the wildlife surrounding the ship. The dolphins, it seemed, were familiar enough with the local vessels that they stayed close by.

When the captain announced over a loudspeaker that the tour was coming to a conclusion and the ship began its return trip to the pier, Malfoy sighed loudly.

"I appreciated the offer," he grunted.

"You had a funny way of showing it," Hermione said, even as her irritation with him remained at bay.

He glared at her for a moment before shaking his head. "If it still stands – I would like to come to Diagon. I could use some new reading material."

Hermione only said softly, "It still stands." Then she hesitated, glancing at him. "I have lots of books in my cottage, for the time being. It was furnished when I moved in. But they're Muggle, of course."

A look of relief passed his face at the offer. "I've read some Muggle books."

"Fine," Hermione said, offering a tentative smile. "Come by my cottage sometime; you can borrow some so long as you return them before the end of summer."

"Of course," he said easily. "Are you working later?"

"Day off," Hermione clipped, slipping her binoculars into their leather pouch. She glanced at him. "Did you want to come by after we return?"

"Sure," he said, gazing at her.

Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded. He stood easily, one hand on the rail as the ship picked up speed through the turbulent waves of the open sea; his hair ruffled in the breeze. He looked the picture of one at ease on a ship.

Hermione found herself wondering to what extent the war had changed him. Whether being here, in Whitby, had changed him.

The thought stirred something restless within her again.

* * *

Malfoy stared around the interior of her small cottage, and Hermione braced herself for his judgments.

"This suits you," he finally said, walking over to the bookcase.

"I like it," Hermione said, smiling absently. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Alright," he said, nodding. "Do you mind if I go through your books?"

"Not at all," Hermione murmured, flushing. "I've sorted them, by genre, and by year."

"Of course you have," he mused, even as he withdrew one of the titles from the shelf.

"There was no order whatsoever when I arrived," Hermione said, defensive on behalf of her organizational methods. "It was utter chaos. It needed to be done."

"I agree," he nodded, "books need to be organized. I sort mine by subject, and nationality of the author."

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "What does nationality of the author suggest about the books?"

"Very little," Malfoy said with a serious expression. "I suppose it's my whimsical side."

Hermione gaped at him. " _You_? I wouldn't have figured you to have a whimsical bone in your body."

"You're right, I don't," he snickered. "It often corresponds with different magical beliefs and teachings. That's why I do it. Though year makes sense, as well. Wizards don't hold much of an understanding with  _fiction_  and therefore genre is often irrelevant."

"I agree," Hermione said quietly as she prepared the tea. "It's why I always bring Muggle fiction to Hogwarts with me."

"Understandable," Malfoy murmured, adding a book that looked suspiciously like  _Crime and Punishment_  to his stack. "Finn lent me some so-called literary classics when I first moved to Whitby. I'm afraid I'm hooked."

"What were some of your favourites?" she asked, suddenly hyper-aware of her breathing.

Malfoy was fond of Muggle literature.  _Malfoy._

" _Treasure Island_ ," he said flippantly. " _Moby Dick_. Catching – Catcher something?"

" _Catcher in the Rye_?" she asked, one hand gripping the counter tightly. Malfoy pointed to her as he absently continued his perusal, nodding once.

"That's the one," he said. "Oddly poignant."

Hermione felt as if she ought to sit down. Instead she hurried over to the bookshelf, adding several titles to his stack.

" _Brave New World_ ," she murmured. " _Nineteen Eighty-Four. Huckleberry Finn_."

"Granger," Malfoy said, sounding amused. "I don't read  _this_  fast."

"These ones are my personal collection," she murmured. "You can return them to me at Hog –" she caught herself, frowning. "You can owl them back to me when you're done with them."

"Right," he said, staring at her in a curious manner. "I suppose when I return to Wiltshire I'll have my owl again."

"Yes," Hermione said, feeling the heaviness of his grey eyes fixed on hers. "Right. In Wiltshire."

"You know," he murmured, "Since I'm not sure if there is enough work in the fisheries to keep me on over winter. I haven't asked yet. So if I don't go back to Hogwarts –"

"Of course," Hermione said, and the words came out breathier than she had meant them to.

"But if I go to Hogwarts, I'll return them to you there," he carried on.

"That makes sense," Hermione said, nodding voraciously. She swallowed, her throat dry. Letting out a heavy breath, Hermione tore her gaze from his. "Oh! Take these, too!"

She shoved the  _Lord of the Rings_  trilogy into his chest. Malfoy blinked, a smirk curving his lips.

"These are brilliant!" she exclaimed, avoiding meeting his eyes. "And, you know.  _The Hobbit_ , too, of course." She added the smaller book on top.

"Think I've got plenty here, Granger," Malfoy said, dropping the Tolkien works on the table beside the other stack.

"Yes, that should do you for now," she said, nodding. She hopped up to grab the kettle, feeling flustered and out of sorts.

There was something about this version of Malfoy – hard-working fisherman and connoisseur of literature – that left Hermione wholly uncertain how to deal with him.

In years past, Hermione had been all too familiar with the blond's personal brand of spite and malice. She had known how to respond to his taunts, and when to ignore him and keep walking. He had been so predictable with his indoctrinated predispositions.

But now… It was necessitating she reassess what she had thought she knew.

It wasn't a feeling Hermione particularly cared for or understood very well.

"Tea," she breathed, handing him a steaming cup of Earl Grey.

"Thank you," he replied, setting it down carefully onto a coaster on the coffee table as he took a seat on her couch. Keeping a safe distance between them, Hermione joined him.

"You drink your tea very hot," Hermione commented as he sipped from his mug. Hermione's was still too warm, and she recalled the same when he had made her tea.

"I always have," he responded, setting the cup back down in the centre of its coaster. "Father always thought I was crazy."

"Only because of that?" Hermione asked, unable to stop the quip. Malfoy side-eyed her, even as he smirked.

"Not only," he finally responded. Then he chuckled. "When I was younger, we used to throw it back and forth. He was crazy for having long hair, and crazy for using a cane, and –" he shook his head. "Just a thing we did, I guess."

Hermione blinked at the sudden and honest admission. "Malfoy, what happened in your father's trial? I… left London before the verdict." She offered him an apologetic smile to go along with the horrendous intrusion of his personal boundaries.

"I left just after. He was found guilty," Malfoy responded shortly. He took a long sip of his tea. "He was sentenced to ten years in Azkaban." His lips thinned. "We were lucky it wasn't a life sentence."

Hermione frowned, wishing she hadn't asked. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. I know you looked up to your father."

"And look where that got me," he muttered, pursing his lips. "Granger, I don't know how I feel about it all, now." He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. "Obviously, I ran away."

"So did I," Hermione supplied. He turned brooding eyes on her and there was a twitch of something like recognition, or appreciation, in his face. "Sorry. We don't have to talk about this."

"It's fine," Malfoy said, his tone deceptively light. He glanced at her again over the top of his teacup and shrugged a shoulder towards the bookshelf. "Why don't you tell me about your favourites?"

Hermione chewed her lower lip and felt a smile creep up. "Have you got all evening?"


	6. Chapter 6

As Hermione packed her beaded bag, preparing to leave Whitby for Diagon Alley, she felt strange and uncomfortable. When she drew her wand from the bottom of her trunk, the unfamiliar surge of magic racing through her veins felt intimidating. She quickly stowed it in her beaded bag.

She hadn't so much as touched her wand since arriving in Whitby. Even when she had sent a response to Harry and Ron, and a request to Kingsley for the Portkey, she had taken the bus into a nearby wizarding community to seek an owl.

She set the deactivated portkey on her kitchen table, waiting for the proper moment.

Cursing herself as she checked the clock on the mantle, she couldn't help but wonder whether Malfoy would be joining her.

After their brief spat on the whale-watching tour, Hermione knew that even if he did come to London with her, he wouldn't be staying with her anyway. She wondered why it mattered so much, then, if he showed up or not.

Furthermore, why did it matter whether he returned to Hogwarts?

She could foresee exactly what would happen. He would return to Slytherin and her to Gryffindor. He with his friends, and Hermione would settle back into an existence with Harry and Ron and Ginny and Neville –

She blinked, startled, at a soft knock on the door.

And the lines between them, so blurred between the waves and the rain here in Whitby, would solidify into a wall of differences once more.

She opened the door, letting out a breathy, "Hi."

And the hours they had spent discussing literature and their childhood activities and their experiences in Whitby would all be swept away like grains of sand in a heavy gust of wind.

Gone, as if they had never been there in the first place. Left to exist only in Hermione's mind.

"Couldn't let you go alone, could I?" he muttered, walking through the door.

Hermione forced a smile.

"No, I suppose not."

* * *

"Hermione!" She turned at the sound of her name, her eyes lighting up to see Harry and Ron approaching, wide grins on their faces.

"Harry," she gasped, embracing the dark-haired boy, "Ron." Ron clapped her awkwardly on the arm. "It's good to see you both!"

"You too, Hermione," Harry said, as the three of them began to walk. "Are you back for the rest of the summer, then?"

"Just for the day, I'm afraid," Hermione said, offering a self-deprecating sort of smile. "I've got to work tomorrow."

"Still can't believe you've left London for the whole summer," Ron grumbled, the good-naturedness of his smile already fading. "Lots going on here."

"Right," Hermione said, nodding. She felt a twinge in her heart as she said, "I'm sorry I missed Fred's funeral."

Ron nodded stiffly, and Hermione pressed her lips together, feeling as if their reunion was likely to be awkward for the duration of the day.

"What else has been happening?" she asked, turning to Harry who was eyeing the two of them with an idle hesitation.

"You know." He waved a dismissive hand. "Restructuring at the Ministry and all that. Kingsley wouldn't make an exception for us to enter Auror training, so we've got to go back for this eighth year or what have you."

"Bollocks, it is," Ron muttered. "Not our fault we missed seventh, was it?"

Hermione chose not to comment. As the three of them made their way to the bookstore, Harry and Ron discussing Quidditch as they walked, Hermione fought the traitorous thought that she might prefer different company to select books with.

And a different sort of conversation than a wizarding sport in which she held no great interest.

As soon as they had landed in the alley outside of the Leaky Cauldron, Malfoy had waited politely for Hermione to activate the entrance into Diagon Alley, and then he had taken off before she could meet up with Harry and Ron, with a sort of partial yet genuine-looking smile, and a muttered, "See you later."

Her head swam with shame and guilt for wishing she was back in Whitby, as Harry and Ron hurried her along through Flourish and Blotts. She had opted out of the obligatory trip into Quality Quidditch Supplies, choosing instead to venture into the apothecary on her own and wait for the boys to join her.

It was how things had always been between them.

So why now did it feel so stifling?

"Hey," Malfoy said, surprised as he looked up from a display of lacewing flies when Hermione turned down the same aisle. He smirked, asking good-naturedly, "Did you lose your tail?"

"Quidditch store," she responded, with a flicker of her brows.

"Understood," Malfoy commented. "Have you been to the bookstore already?"

"Yes, for all of five minutes," she muttered under her breath, adding some of the lacewings into her basket, but Malfoy's snicker indicated he had heard her anyway.

"Shame," he said, glancing sidelong at her, his voice hushed. "I spent a good hour looking through that display on household potions."

"No!" Hermione gasped. Harry had physically dragged her away from said display by her arm, ignoring the intense longing on her face.

"I'll lend you," he said with a crooked grin, waving a bag with the Flourish and Blotts insignia stamped on it. Hermione stared at the bag with envy.

"Are you allowed to brew potions?" Hermione asked with curiosity.

"Sure," he said with a shrug. "It doesn't require the use of a wand. But when I left Wiltshire for Whitby, I left everything behind including my potions set."

"Understood," Hermione nodded, portioning some beetle eyes into a bag, and watching as Malfoy did the same. She wondered if it meant he was collecting his Hogwarts list, but refrained from asking.

"I stopped by the post office and sent an owl to my mother, requesting she send my owl to Whitby," he commented, glancing at her. "So in case you need to send any more letters."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised at the offer. "I appreciate that."

"Only seemed fair," he said, shrugging. He hesitated, staring at her for a moment, before opening his mouth to speak again.

"Hermione, there you are," Harry exclaimed as he turned into the aisle, and Hermione took a subtle step away from Malfoy, whose eyes had narrowed slightly.

As expected, Harry and Ron tensed, their postures growing stiff, but Malfoy simply raised a disdainful eyebrow and added a jar to his basket.

"Malfoy," Ron growled. "What are you doing here?"

"Collecting ingredients for potions, Weasley," Malfoy drawled, sneering. "Or is this not the apothecary?"

Hermione frowned, sensing exactly how ugly this could potentially turn.

"Get away from Hermione," Harry said, his tone forceful.

"Harry," Hermione muttered, frowning. "Ron, stop it. Just leave him alone. He's said and done nothing to bother me."

Malfoy's grey eyes flashed to hers with something akin to gratefulness.

Harry and Ron didn't move, still glaring in Malfoy's direction. Hermione could see Harry's wand hand hovering near his pocket. She doubted her friends knew the blond was unarmed. Swallowing, she resolved to step in if curses started firing.

"Let's just go, okay?" Hermione tried again, finding herself, both literally and figuratively, stuck between her friends and Malfoy.

"Don't worry about it, Granger," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "I'm about done here anyway."

He met her gaze with a flicker of his brows as he turned and walked to the cashier to make his purchase. Hermione merely frowned as he left, and was forced to endure Harry and Ron's raving about his mere presence in the apothecary until she had rolled her eyes and snapped at them to stop.

And they switched back to Quidditch.

Hermione sighed, finding herself looking forward to the designated meeting time, at which point she and Malfoy would return to Whitby. And subsequently feeling guilty for such thoughts. She swallowed the strange heaviness and carried on.

* * *

"You know, Hermione, we're going to miss you," Celeste proclaimed as she walked up beside the brunette, leaning against the back counter. "You ought to consider staying here in Whitby."

Hermione felt a smile twist her features even as she shook her head. "I can't stay. I'm going back to school in just under a month."

"Oh, right," Celeste said with an apologetic smile. "Etta did mention that. Back in London?"

"In Scotland, actually," Hermione said, pressing her lips together.

"Scotland." Celeste's brows flickered. "What are you studying there?"

Hermione fought a grimace. "Undetermined, at the moment. Chemistry, history, botany – that sort of thing." Her gaze flickered to the dining area, absently checking on her tables.

"One might think," Celeste said, a demure smile on her lips, "you seem to have another reason to stay in Whitby."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot as Celeste casually gestured to where her brother Mark, Malfoy, and Finn were sitting by the window, having what appeared to be an animated conversation over their third round of pints.

"If you're referring to Malfoy –"

"Come on, Hermione," Celeste teased, "he's been watching you since those three landed in here two hours ago."

Hermione rolled her eyes, even as she felt her gaze slip to the blond. "Even  _if_  he had  _any_  bearing on my decision – which he doesn't, by the way – he's leaving Whitby too."

"Are you sure about that?" Celeste said, her eyes large. "When I dropped off their last round, they were discussing the winter."

Hermione froze, turning to her co-worker. "What happens in the winter?"

Celeste shrugged. "Fewer tourists, of course, but the fisheries carry on. Whitby is a major supplier to the fishing industry, and the North Sea remains accessible enough for them to get around."

"Right," Hermione murmured, glancing at Malfoy again. His eyes met hers, his lips teasing a hint of a smirk. She shook her head, looking at Celeste again. "Of course that makes sense."

"Indeed," Celeste mused. "Well, Etta's said there's a spot for you if you change your mind."

Something twinged in Hermione's chest at the thought of staying in Whitby.

"I appreciate the offer," she said quietly, forcing a smile. "But I really ought to finish my schooling. I'll certainly miss you all. Whitby's definitely grown on me."

"It does that," Celeste said, pushing away from the counter to get back to work. She grinned. "You know, like a fungus."

Chuckling, Hermione returned to work as well.

* * *

Hermione lingered surreptitiously around the docks one evening several days later, doing her best to appear inconspicuous.

When Malfoy and the rest of his crew appeared on the pier, unloading the day's haul, she suddenly felt nervous, wiping her hands on her jeans. But she quickly turned away, observing the setting sun as she waited.

Finally she caught a flash of blond through her peripheral vision, and Malfoy stopped alongside her.

"Don't tell me you were waiting for me," he murmured with a smirk. "How sweet of you, Granger."

"I was watching the sunset," she sniffed, folding her arms.

"It's okay, Granger," he said, gazing out at the sea. The failing light reflected off his face, leaving echoes of orange and red trapped in the stubble on his jaw. "I won't tell anyone."

"You're obnoxious, did you know?" she murmured, narrowing her eyes.

"I did know," he responded. "Let's go for a walk."

Surprised, Hermione offered him an awkward sort of shrug and fell into step alongside him. "How was work?" she asked, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"Fishy," he responded, glancing sidelong at her. "But uneventful."

"I'd surmised as much," Hermione said, mockingly wrinkling her nose.

"Hey," he said sternly, raising his hands. "You knew I would smell like fish and chose to wait at the docks for me anyway. That's on you."

"I didn't –" she began and snapped her mouth shut.

He snickered but fell silent as they continued walking. Hermione blinked when she realized he was leading her up the East Cliff to the remains of the Whitby Abbey. She remembered the last time she had made the climb and felt a flustered sort of smile grow on her face.

"At least it isn't storming," she offered.

"Very true," Malfoy responded, looking deep in thought.

Hermione frowned and glanced at him. "Are you planning on staying in Whitby?"

He blinked, surprised, and stopped walking. "I'm considering it." He shrugged and carried on again. "If I don't go back to Hogwarts, I still don't get my wand back until May. So I might as well stay here until then."

"Doesn't your mother miss you?" Hermione found herself asking. "And if you went home, you wouldn't have to work, right?"

"I suppose she does," Malfoy said, making a face. "She's reconnected with Andromeda, so she isn't alone. And I guess not. But I'm going to be really honest with you, Granger – working on the ship has been good to keep my mind busy."

"Spoken like a true aristocrat," she mused but offered him a smile. "I know what you mean. I feel the same about the diner. Though I suppose most people wouldn't understand. Harry and Ron certainly don't."

"It's part of what makes me nervous to go back to Hogwarts," he said, shrugging as they continued the hike up the cliff. "Too much time to think. Too much time alone."

"You'll have friends there still, won't you?" she asked.

"Not many," he drawled. "Maybe Theo. If he goes back."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed it, only nodding instead. Of course he wouldn't include her in a list of friends.

"Granger," he said, and Hermione realized he was watching her. "You said yourself, we aren't friends. And besides, outside of this environment – there would be nothing between us."

"You're right," she said, breathier than she intended.

She strode forward, folding her arms across her chest. He huffed a breath and caught up to her.

"Fine, then, suppose I went back," he said, rolling his eyes as he kept her pace. "If you said so much as one nice word to me…" he shook his head. "No one would understand."

"I like to think that things will be different," she said, quietly. "Now that the war is over."

"They won't be," he said, rather harshly. "You're a fucking hero, Granger. I'm the traitorous junior Death Eater who somehow didn't get himself killed. You see what I'm getting at?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "But there are more important things than being accepted by everyone else. I can't say it's ever been my priority."

Boldly, she glanced at him. His brow furrowed as he stared in return. "You'd be giving up your best friends."

"I can't believe that," she breathed.

"I wouldn't let you take the risk," he said, frowning. " _If_  I return to Hogwarts, this all ends between us, whatever  _this_  is. Plain and simple."

"Just like that," she snapped.

"Yes," he returned. "Just. Like. That."

"And I don't get a say," she hissed, eyes narrowed.

"Why the fuck do you even care, Granger?" he exclaimed, voice rising. "I'm not worth your fucking time, I can promise you that. It's what's best for you, so just deal with it."

"You aren't going to make me hate you again if that's what you think you're doing," she clipped, glaring at him. "I'm not joining your little pity party."

"Pity –" he huffed, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, Granger, are you always this dense? I'm not worth anything! In fact, you shouldn't  _want_  me to go back to Hogwarts if you think you and I can just be friends, because –"

He cut himself off, shaking his head.

"You don't have to loathe yourself so, Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, turning to him. "You don't –" she threw up her hands. "You  _can_  learn to let go!"

"How?" he spat, his grey eyes filled with ire. "How the  _bloody_  fuck do you propose I do that? There is no part of me left worth saving!"

Hermione held his gaze, unflinching because she could see the hurt and desperation, so carefully hidden beneath the years of pain and indifference. Behind the meticulously constructed shield.

"Do you know, Granger, why I was on the cliff the night that storm hit?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper, his face contorted with hopelessness and something else she couldn't place.

A breath caught in Hermione's throat and she shook her head, a vehement sort of denial rising to the surface. "No," she gasped, "you couldn't –"

"You're right," he said, bitterly, "I couldn't. I was too much of a coward, even, to jump."

"Malfoy," she breathed, feeling moisture sting the corners of her eyes at his harsh admittance, "that isn't the answer." She pressed her eyes shut. "You are worth saving, damnit! Why can't you see that!"

"Give me a reason, Granger," he said, the words hoarse as they spilled from his throat. He shook his head, his breaths coming in fast. "One fucking reason. Please."

It was the pain in his eyes, the utter desolation on his face –

Her mouth felt dry, her eyes burning with the bite of hot tears, as she turned to face him.

"Because I think you're worth it," she breathed, grasping his face with her hands, and throwing caution and sanity into the cool breeze, she kissed him.

Malfoy stood, stunned, for the split second in which her lips caught his, and it wasn't soft but his lips against hers set off something deep within Hermione and she clutched his hair as she drew away, his breath ghosting across her lips.

He blinked, his chest heaving, and his grey eyes met hers, his lips parted.

Then he grabbed her, one hand sliding up her back and the other into her hair, as he pulled her closer and he kissed her, harder this time, his lips warm and insistent as they pressed against hers.

Hermione felt a keen awareness of the comforting presence of his body against hers, her hands tugging his hair as one slid down to the back of his neck, and then she was kissing him hard, basking in the feel of his hands on her.

His tongue grazed hers, and he pitched forward, tilting her face, and Hermione felt her mind slipping, lost in the feel of him, of the way he kissed her with such wild abandon, such an expression of emotion she could never have imagined from him –

He drew away, abruptly, nipping her lower lip. His breathing was heavy as he gazed at her, his hands still absently grazing her back.

"Granger," he said, his voice low, "what the fuck?"

"I'm sorry," she gasped, shaking her head. "I just –"

"Don't apologize," he snickered. Then he shook his head. "Have you gone fucking mad?"

"I must have done," she breathed, holding his gaze. Summoning her courage, she slipped her hand into his, relieved when he entwined their fingers. She whispered, "I just know, Malfoy, that there's more to your life than misery and regret. There's more to  _you_  than someone wishing things had been different."

The look in his eyes said he wanted to believe her.

"I don't know how," he finally said. He pressed his forehead against hers, turning to look out over the cliff at the last vestiges of the setting sun.

"You have to allow yourself to try," Hermione breathed. "There is so much more to you than a junior Death Eater who managed to survive." She choked on the words. "You don't need to simply survive anymore, Malfoy. I know how that feels, only trying to make it through one day to the next… but what about living?"

He nudged her side before drawing back. "I don't know about that now." He sighed, tugging her with him towards the viewing area, as they watched dusk fall over the mouth of the river. "I guess you'll have to teach me."

Hermione exhaled, relaxing with the vague but comforting air between them, feeling somehow unexpectedly, yet entirely, at peace. "I'll do my best."


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione was dreaming. She was trapped in Malfoy Manor, the wood of the floor creaking beneath her prone form, her blood seeping through the cracks between the floorboards, slow and insidious.

Above her, Bellatrix cackled as she wielded her cursed dagger, basking in Hermione's drawn out suffering. Hermione screamed as the dagger broke her flesh again; her vision blurred as the dark haze of agony overtook her mind.

She gazed up from the floor, her eyes desperately seeking an absent salvation.

Grey eyes met hers – wide with terror – and she couldn't look away.

As the dagger bled her once more and Hermione choked on a sob, the depths of those grey eyes swam before her, and she saw something deep within them. Something like despair, or regret, or a last effort at hope.

The grey eyes blinked, and they belonged to a face, tanned from hours in the sun, the curve of the jaw flecked with stubble and filled with the brilliant facets of a golden sunset. She heard the sweeping of waves, crashing over the pier at high tide.

In those grey eyes, she saw and heard and felt so much.  _Don't let go_.

The dagger speared her flesh once more, and Hermione's eyes flew open; her heart raced as her chest heaved. A whimper broke from her lips as cold sweat poured from her brow and soaked her skin.

Steadying herself into an upright position, Hermione poured a glass of water from the bedside carafe and forced herself to drink the whole thing as the fog of the night terror slowly dissipated.

The bright number of the clock on her nightstand told Hermione she'd had a lie-in. Releasing a long breath, she rose and dressed for the day.

The nightmares, while of the usual subject matter, had begun to shift recently.

It was mornings like this Hermione wished she had brought her potions supplies to Whitby. She could certainly use a batch of Dreamless Sleep.

Pulling her hair back into a messy bun, Hermione tensed at a rap on the front door, the memories still fresh.

Hesitantly, she opened the door.

Grey eyes blinked at her.

"Hi," Malfoy murmured, looking uncertain. He shifted on his feet. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all," Hermione said, her voice hoarse and breathy. So she had been screaming in her sleep again. She forced a smile, catching his gaze. "I've got the day off."

He offered her a sort of half-grin and stepped across the threshold. He hesitated for a moment, then nudged her with his shoulder. Hermione felt herself flush.

She hadn't had a chance to see him since three nights prior, when the two of them had reached some sort of emotional cataclysm and she had kissed him. She hadn't quite realized she felt that way about him until that moment – and had subsequently spent almost every moment since thinking about it.

More often than not – how  _Malfoy_  wasn't really the Malfoy she had always known anymore.

"Don't laugh," he said sternly, proffering a plastic container, "I made muffins."

"Muffins," Hermione repeated, blinking. " _You_  made muffins."

"That's right." He frowned as if preparing to defend himself. "They're banana nut."

"Where did you learn to make muffins?" Hermione asked, smiling. It was a moment she could never have imagined she would see, in her wildest dreams.

"Brix gave me the recipe," he commented, sweeping past her to deposit the container of muffins on her kitchen table. "So if they're rubbish, it's his fault."

"Ah," Hermione mused, putting the kettle on. "If the muffins  _you_  baked are rubbish, you mean."

"Yes," he smirked, rolling his eyes. "Just fucking try one."

"I will," Hermione said softly. "Thank you for bringing muffins. I appreciate it."

Hermione set two plates on the table, and they both took a seat. Malfoy drew out two of the muffins and put one on each plate. They were sort of oddly misshapen and inconsistent in size, but Hermione found it endearing that he had tried.

"What are you doing today?" Hermione asked, peeling the paper liner from her muffin.

"I also have the day off," he said carefully.

Bracing herself, she took a cautious bite of the muffin, careful to mind her expression in case the muffin was undercooked or similarly inedible.

Her eyes widened as she met his, and he stared at her warily from across the table.

The inside of the muffin was light and fluffy, and still slightly warm as if they had just come from the oven, and the crown was wonderfully crisp.

"This is a delicious muffin," she said, beaming at him.

"You're lying," he said with a grimace.

"I'm not," Hermione retorted, picking a nut off the top of her muffin and eating it. "Didn't you try them?"

"No," he grumbled, rising to pour the tea. Then he settled back down and peeled his own muffin. Raising his brows at her, he took a large bite. Then he conceded, "It isn't bad."

Hermione snorted. "You should have seen my first attempt at baking cookies when I was young. They were raw on the inside and burnt to the pan on the bottom. Still not entirely sure how I managed that. My parents pretended they were good and ate them anyway." She chuckled, shaking her head.

"Impressive," Malfoy snickered, taking another bite of his muffin. "I heard you sent your parents away during the war. Where are they now?"

"Still in Australia," Hermione responded softly. "The memory charm was irreversible."

"Fuck," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Granger. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's alright," she murmured, shrugging. "I've sort of been able to come to terms with it. It was one of the reasons I wanted to get away. I just… I suppose I would rather them be alive and happy, even if it means I don't have them around anymore, when the alternative is that they're dead because of me."

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment. "That can't have been an easy decision."

"It wasn't," she breathed. "But it's the one I can live with."

"What is easy and what is right are not often the same thing," Malfoy said, meeting her gaze. She had a feeling the words resonated deeply with him as well. "I'm sorry you had to make that call."

"Thanks, Malfoy," Hermione said, feeling oddly touched by his words.

Hermione finished her muffin and sliced a second one in two, setting half of it on her plate as she sipped her tea.

"So I was thinking," Malfoy began, taking the second half of the muffin, "I haven't really done much in Whitby aside from work." He pressed his lips together and huffed a breath through his nose. "Would you like to explore with me?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, unable to stop the smile on her features. Uncertain of his intentions, she decided to test the waters between them. "You must be incredibly bored to ask me."

Malfoy made a face. "I can ask someone else if you rather."

"Go ahead," she murmured, making eye contact.

"I asked you," he said, raising one slender brow. He took a long sip of his tea and set down his cup. "Granger, why did you kiss me?"

Hermione froze, nerves washing over her. It was an awfully direct question for a Slytherin. She chewed her lip, considering her response carefully.

"I'm not sure," she finally answered, feeling her cheeks grow hot under his scrutinizing gaze. "I suppose it was because I've never seen this side of you before…" she averted her gaze. "And it intrigues me."

Malfoy frowned. He repeated, "It  _intrigues_  you. As in, look at Malfoy: his life is fucked up and now he doesn't know how to move on?"

"No," Hermione gasped, scowling. "As in, I'm realizing you're a better person than I always thought you were. Than  _you_  think you are."

"Oh," he clipped, swishing the dregs of his tea in the cup. He opened his mouth and closed it. "Surely you already know, Granger, there could be no future here."

"You're probably right," Hermione breathed, torn between how the statement made her feel. A small part of her was hoping his response had been different, while a bigger part was wishing they weren't having such an awkward conversation to begin with.

She rose to clean up the dishes, carrying the dirty plates and cups to the sink. Letting out a breath she turned back to face him, leaning against the counter.

"Then it probably isn't a good idea for me to go exploring with you today," she said, offering a sardonic smile. "You know, given I might start to confuse where or where not the future might lie."

His brow furrowed. "You can't be serious, Granger."

" _You_  made muffins," she sniffed.

"I felt like muffins," he sniped. "Fine, I'll go then."

He rose from his seat and carefully tucked the chair back under the table. Taking his container with the remaining muffins, Malfoy walked to the front door.

"Have fun exploring," Hermione said, following at a distance with her arms folded across her chest.

He hesitated, looking between her and the front door. Finally he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Keep the muffins." He shoved the container at her, and Hermione set the muffins back on the table.

"Thanks," she snipped.

He scowled at her, chewing his tongue. "Fucking come with me."

"Fine," Hermione said, snickering. She shook her head. "You're such a child. Let me grab my bag."

* * *

"I can't believe some of the things Muggles do for  _science_ ," Malfoy was saying, shaking his head as they left Whitby's Museum of Victorian Science.

Hermione snorted as she trailed along beside him. "Honestly, Muggles are actually way more advanced than wizarding society in so many ways. We lack so much of the technology they rely on in daily life."

"But none of it makes any sense," Malfoy protested. "Moving into a Muggle house was the most confusing thing I've ever experienced. I can use the oven just fine, but half of the contraptions in the kitchen seem to serve no purpose whatsoever. And why do I have to pay for electricity?"

"Because that's how everything is powered," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure the  _contraptions_  aren't all that complicated if you knew what they were for. I'll take a look later."

"If you must," Malfoy said, though he shot her a sidelong glance, smirking. "Where to next?"

"I've been meaning to visit the art gallery," Hermione murmured. "Celeste says it's worth a visit."

"Then I suppose we ought to visit," Malfoy said, "lead the way."

* * *

By the time Hermione and Malfoy left the art gallery, having thoroughly enjoyed – and debated – the artwork, Hermione's stomach was growling. It had been hours since Malfoy had shown up on her doorstep with muffins.

As if reading her mind, Malfoy glanced at her. "Lunch? It's on me."

"Alright," she said, smiling. She had come to realize she was enjoying his pleasant company. "Only – no fish."

"No fish," Malfoy agreed with a grin.

After a late lunch, the sun in the sky was sweltering, the air thick and heavy with humidity. A few suspicious clouds were beginning to roll in.

Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked, rather obtrusively getting closer to Hermione until he knocked into her side. "Excuse you," he snickered. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

He turned, catching her arm, a curious tilt to his head. "I'll ask for no bodily harm, Granger," he said, poking her in the ribs with his free hand.

"You started it," Hermione threw back, childishly.

Malfoy simply stared at her, a glint in his eye. "I've been meaning to climb the lighthouse. Have you been?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head, even as she couldn't quite look away from his penetrating grey eyes. "Let's go there next."

Malfoy released her elbow and began walking in the direction of the pier. Hermione kept up with his long stride, enjoying the comfortable silence between them. Every so often he would nudge her again, and though Hermione glared at him, he merely raised his eyebrows innocently.

As they arrived at the base of the lighthouse, the sun had all but vanished, heavy dark clouds hanging above them in the sky. Tourists were milling about on the pier as usual, though they were beginning to trickle away in the face of the approaching storm.

A large group was just descending from the top of the lighthouse, and the two of them waited patiently as a light sprinkle began to drop down.

With a glance at Malfoy, Hermione started ahead of him into the lighthouse, meaning to beat him to the top. Partway up, she felt a pair of arms grab her around the waist and spin her around; when she turned back he had passed her and was several steps ahead.

Huffing a breath, Hermione darted up the stairs left between them, catching up but struggling to keep up with his significantly longer legs as he started taking the stairs two at a time.

Out of breath when she arrived at the top, the ire drained from Hermione as she saw Malfoy staring out over the rail at the ships drifting in and out of the harbour; there was something bright and peaceful in his gaze.

She simply moved beside him, the rain falling down in earnest now, beginning to soak through her hair and clothes. But Malfoy made no effort to step back inside, and Hermione felt no great inclination to either.

"Is Brix's ship out today?" Hermione asked softly, watching as the hypnotizing current swept against the pier.

Malfoy nodded. "It's on its way back in, just there." He pointed towards one of the many, distant ships; Hermione wondered how he could tell them apart.

Hermione started as his fingertips played about the length of her spine, but settled into his warm presence as he dropped the arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer.

But still, he gazed down at the ships, his brow softly furrowed.

"How do I leave," he murmured, "when this is the first place I've ever been where people don't have some sort of preconceived notions about who I am."

"Faith," Hermione finally said, quietly. "With a belief that life is what you make it. That who  _you_  are, from this day forward, is a decision you are free to make, and no one else can tell you otherwise." She swallowed, glancing at him. "And it might take some time, but people will see it."

"I know I need to go back," he said, shaking his head. "But here… I guess it's taken losing my magic to realize what's important. And here, I feel free."

"It is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere," Hermione murmured, dropping her head against his chest, allowing the rain to run down her face.

"Who said that?" he asked, glancing down at her.

"Voltaire," she breathed. "But – I know what you mean, too. I've loved my time here."

"Must be the great company," he snickered.

"Please," Hermione scoffed, turning to him with a rebuttal on the tip of her tongue.

Her words didn't leave her mouth, however, as he turned, dropping his face and catching her lips with his. He kissed her again, and Hermione could taste the rainwater on his lips as she kissed him back, her eyes slipping shut and her hands dropping to the drenched cotton of his shirt, grasping tightly to his collar.

Malfoy groaned, pressing her back against the wall of the lighthouse as he kissed her thoroughly, almost lazily, his tongue grazing hers in a way that made Hermione's core clench and flare to life. Her hands drifted into his hair, pulling him closer, and the feel of his body, pressed against her own soaking clothes, tore a whimper from her throat.

He kissed her harder, one hand at the curve of her jaw as the other slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, playing about the sensitive skin of her lower back.

Raindrops fell from her eyelashes as Hermione became acutely aware of every touch of his hands, every stroke of his tongue against hers, her body screaming with desirous anticipation.

Her hands slipped beneath his shirt as rain poured down, his skin damp but warm, and he pressed closer to her, his own hands emboldened as they skimmed her body, his mouth drifting across her jaw and down the column of her neck. Her head fell back against the lighthouse, the feel of it surreal as her heart pounded a frantic cadence in her chest.

"Malfoy," Hermione groaned, a chill running down the length of her spine at his ministrations.

He tore himself away, gazing at her as rain poured down their faces. His lips were parted with heavy breaths, and he kissed her again, but it was lacking the desperate urgency that had existed between them just moments ago.

Her hands returned to his hair, silky and plastered to his head.

When he pulled back again, Hermione opened her mouth. To say something reassuring, or to invite him over to continue what they'd started – she wasn't sure.

But he was staring at her, his brows knit and his eyes looking so empty, and she clamped her lips shut again.

"Suppose we ought to get inside," he choked out, averting his gaze, making to return into the lighthouse.

"Okay," Hermione said, her stomach rolling as waves of disappointment washed over her. He would push her away again – she knew it.

"Malfoy," she gasped, and he turned back, his lips pressed into a thin line. She strode forward so she was standing before him. "I just want you to know…" she shook her head, steeling herself. "That this means something to me. That  _you_  mean something to me."

"Really." His tone and expression were skeptical.

"Yes," she hissed, and wrapped her arms around his waist. A careful, deliberate beat later, his arms came around her shoulders and pulled her close. Hermione nearly breathed a sigh of relief.

"You mean something to me too, Granger," he murmured into her tangled, bedraggled curls. When they drew apart, his eyes met hers, and he looked so sad. He finally said, "You're the only one who really sees me."

"And I wish you could see what I see," she breathed, holding his gaze. A wary but genuine smile drifted briefly across his face. "Come on. I'll make you some tea."

"That would be great," he murmured, and his face spoke the volumes his words did not.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hermione, you've got a visitor." Hermione glanced up in surprise as Etta approached her at the diner. Etta's lips were twitching as she gestured to the tables of with a tilt of her head. "Why don't you take an early break?"

"Okay," Hermione blinked, her eyes scanning the patrons. A flush crept to her cheeks at the sight of a familiar head of blond hair.

Malfoy stared as she approached, his eyes penetrating her own and making her feel oddly conscious of her clothes and the way her hair was thrown into a messy bun.

But he only smiled, a murmured, "Hi."

"Hi," Hermione responded, sinking into the seat across from him. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't come for a brew?" he asked, smirking as he gestured at his cold mug of ale.

"Of course you can," Hermione muttered, flushing.

"Maybe I wanted to see you," he said absently, glancing out the window. "Or is that not allowed either?"

"It's allowed," Hermione said, unable to fight the smile breaking across her face.

His fingers grazed the back of her hand, and Hermione turned her hand to entwine with his. "Come over later?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Okay," Hermione breathed.

Something flashed in her peripheral vision and she turned to see Etta and Celeste standing together against the back counter, wearing identical expectant grins as they stared at her and Malfoy. Huffing a sigh, she merely shook her head.

* * *

Hermione could scarcely believe how quickly time was flying. It was as if, upon reaching August, her days had begun going twice as fast. The month had been racing past, and Hermione would be leaving Whitby for King's Cross station in less than two weeks.

For all her interest about how Hogwarts would be as an eighth year student and the logistics around that, her heart sank every time she thought of saying goodbye to Whitby and all the people she had come to know, who had been so openly welcoming from the very start.

From Celeste and Etta and the others working at the diner, to Finn and Brix and the crew.

And Malfoy.

It was easy, while in Whitby, to take things one day at a time, and let them simply flow.

She had seen Malfoy a handful of times since their day of exploring town, and she found that while she enjoyed his company more and more, there was a part of her that was wary of growing too attached. He still hadn't clarified whether he would be returning to Hogwarts, staying in Whitby, or going home to Wiltshire to wait out the rest of his non-magical sentence.

He hadn't brought up the topic and she had followed his lead. If nothing else, she knew how torn he was on the subject.

A part of her feared what might become of whatever it was between them, should they both return to Hogwarts. But yet, greater was the fear that she might be about to lose something so unexpectedly beautiful.

Because when she was with him, they talked, and laughed, and shared about books and food and things they were passionate about. She shared with him her love of magical creatures, and her desire to do more for them – he told her of his dream to open his own apothecary.

But yet, the warm winds of Whitby still held tightly to that part of her heart which had accepted the seawater and the fishy air as its home.

Hermione had always considered herself pragmatic and reasonable.

But now she wondered, should Malfoy choose to stay in Whitby, whether she would be able to leave on her own.

"Earth to Hermione," Celeste said, giggling as she waved a hand in the brunette's line of vision.

Startled, Hermione jumped, realizing she had been drifting off at work.

"Sorry, Celeste," she murmured with a grin. "Lost in my thoughts, I suppose."

"I'm not surprised," Celeste said with a glance toward the window, where Brix's crew had taken up their usual table at the end of a long day. Hermione flushed as she glanced at Malfoy, who appeared to be drawing something out on the wooden table with a finger in demonstration.

Hermione offered her friend a meek, apologetic smile.

"I was just asking you what you wanted to do for your going away party next week!" Celeste exclaimed.

"Oh," Hermione said, shaking her head, "I don't need anything, Celeste. Truly."

"Fine," Celeste said, rolling her eyes, "I meant our end of summer party then, obviously. It won't be too crazy. Us, Etta, the crew, Finn. Your blond non-boyfriend, of course."

Hermione blushed again. "I suppose we could use my house."

"Deal," Celeste said with a brilliant grin. "Saturday the –" she peered at a calendar on the wall. "Twenty-ninth."

"Fine," Hermione said with a sigh, resolving if there was a huge mess she could use her wand just the once. She had already contacted Kingsley with Malfoy's owl to arrange a portkey directly from Whitby to King's Cross for the morning of September first.

"Excellent," Celeste declared, "I'll tell the boys."

Awkwardly, Hermione followed her co-worker as Celeste strode confidently to the table by the window, and announced they would be having a party at Hermione's house the following weekend.

Malfoy glanced at her, his eyes wide with surprise and amusement. " _You're_  hosting a party."

"Yes," Hermione sniffed, raising her brows. "Are you coming?"

"I wouldn't miss it," he said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, someone is going to have to help you prepare."

"And  _you're_  so experienced in throwing parties," Hermione snorted.

Malfoy simply held his hands up, his expression that of ' _duh_ '.

"This isn't a gala of England's high aristocracy," Hermione teased. Celeste shot Hermione a questioning glance, then looked back at Malfoy. Hermione chewed her lip, wondering if she had crossed some boundary he had meant to keep concealed.

Malfoy simply shrugged, a charming smile on his face. "No matter."

"I'll be there," Finn exclaimed cheerfully. There was a general chorus of consent from the other members of the crew and Celeste grinned, satisfied.

* * *

As it turned out, Malfoy's idea of helping her prepare for the party was to show up with what seemed to Hermione to be a gratuitous amount of alcohol.

Hermione had taken the day off to clean her cottage and prepare for the gathering, and was just finalizing a plate of chopped vegetables when he arrived, looking furtively at the spread she had prepared.

"What sort of crowd are you expecting?" he asked, setting his collection of alcohol out on the table, and placing some of it in a pail of ice. He plucked a cube of cheese from a platter of cheese and sausage and then considered for a moment and fixed himself a plate.

"I want to be a good hostess," Hermione said, stubbornly folding her arms. "Who doesn't like food at a party?"

"I'm just saying," he said, biting the end off of a pickle, " _this_  certainly isn't expected."

He poured two drinks and set them carefully on coasters on the coffee table, and then sat down on the couch and picked at his plate of food. Sighing, Hermione took a seat beside him.

"I suppose I just want our friends to enjoy themselves," she said quietly. "I want them to remember me."

Malfoy frowned and nudged her with his shoulder. "They will. Of  _course_  they will, Granger." He set the plate down on his lap and slung an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Thanks," she breathed, slipping her hand into his as it hung across her front. She fidgeted with a bracelet around his wrist made of thread in a complicated sort of braid with her other hand. "Why do you wear this?"

Malfoy snickered and fidgeted with the bracelet himself. "I don't have a choice. It was a metal cuff to restrain my magic, in case I tried to learn wandless magic. Only I had them transfigure it so I didn't look like a prisoner, coming here. The mark is bad enough, but most people think it's just a bad tattoo."

Her gaze fell on what remained of the Dark Mark on his forearm; it had been slowly fading since the fall of Voldemort.

"Right," Hermione said, suddenly flustered. It was so easy to forget, sometimes, how completely different their backgrounds were. Especially here in Whitby, where everything was so equalized. She turned to him, smiling. "At least you'll get your magic back, eventually."

"Absolutely," he said, stacking meat and cheese on a cracker one-handed and eating the whole thing.

Nodding, Hermione took a sip of the drink he had mixed for her. It wasn't as strong as she might have expected. She wanted to tell him she hoped he would come back to Hogwarts, but knew it was a decision he needed to make on his own.

"Are you looking forward to tonight?" Hermione asked brightly, turning to him.

"Sure, it'll be fun." He smirked. Then his expression softened and he squeezed her hand, still within his. "I like spending time with you." He laughed out loud. "Merlin, that's something I never thought I'd hear myself say."

"I never thought I'd hear you say such a thing, either," Hermione said, chuckling. "Or that I'd agree with the sentiment."

"You know," he said, making a face as he tugged her nearer, "insufferable swot that you are."

"Pompous git," Hermione sniped as her lips met his.

* * *

Two hours later, the party was in full swing, and several people had shown up Hermione didn't know. She stalked past the food table, her gait a little unsteady, her eyelids half-lowered as she approached Malfoy, who was in conversation with Celeste's brother Nick.

When he saw her, he excused himself from the conversation and strode up to Hermione, an easy grin on his face and an empty glass in his hand.

"Hi," he said, his grey eyes sparkling.

"I'll have you take note," Hermione said, wiggling her brows, "that most of the food has been consumed." She gestured behind her in the direction of the table, upon which most of the platters had been greatly depleted.

"I concede, oh great caterer of parties," Malfoy snickered, "people loved your food."

He sauntered to the drinks table, pouring himself another. Hermione hastily set her empty cup beside his and he poured her one as well.

"Yes they did," Hermione asserted with a nod.

"You're drunk," Malfoy observed.

"Perhaps," Hermione agreed. "And you?"

"Pretty well."

"Good," Hermione leered. She took a generous swig of her drink and slipped her hand into his. She pulled him to an empty couch and fell into it rather gracelessly.

"Hermione Granger, drunk," Malfoy snickered. "This should be interesting."

"It will be," Hermione said, kissing him, then pulled back. " _Draco Malfoy_  drunk on Muggle liquor."

"It's not bad," he murmured, kissing her again. He blinked at her, a wry grin creeping across his face. "I like how you say Draco."

"I don't say Draco," Hermione said, raising one eyebrow.

"You literally just did," he said, laughing. "Two seconds ago. After I called you Hermione."

"That sounds so weird," Hermione breathed quickly. "You have to call me Granger, and I have to call you Malfoy because that's our names."

"Our names are Draco and Hermione," he muttered, leaning in.

"Right," Hermione said, holding up one finger. " _But_ , we can't call each other that. It isn't natural."

"Why not," he whispered. "What are you going to do if I start calling you  _Hermione_."

"I'm going to..." she began, blinking. "Probably I'll do nothing, but I won't call you Draco."

"You just did," he pointed out, "again."

Hermione threw up her hands, making a noise of frustration. "You're so manipulative!"

"Slytherin," he muttered with a grin.

"Not anymore," Hermione whispered before she could stop herself. His brow furrowed as he stared back at her, his grey eyes lidded.

"I want to go with you, Granger," he said, frowning. "I just don't know how – I don't want to ruin this."

"This will probably end," she whispered, "if you don't."

"We could try," he said, running a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. "We could owl and –" He cut himself off, pressing his lips together. "I know."

"I'd like to think we can try, too," Hermione said, blinking at him several times. She wished she hadn't brought it up. "Ten months is a long time."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them he blinked the world back into focus. "I'm not about bravery so much as self-preservation, Granger."

"I can try to be brave enough for us both," she whispered, grasping his face as she pressed her forehead to his. "But… I think you're braver than you realize."

He moistened his lips. "I don't want to – but I do. You know?"

"I know," she breathed. She met his eyes, her own imploring. "I won't ask, but I'd like if you came with me."

He huffed a sigh and wrapped his arms around her. "I want to go with you." He offered her a tight smile. "But!" He paused for effect, pointing at her. "You have to call me Draco."

"I can't," Hermione gasped in horror. "I just… can't," she shook her head mutely.

"Then I'm not coming," he smirked. "And for the love of Merlin, I know I have  _no_  right to ask this of you... " He blinked for a moment, staring at her. "If I go back to Hogwarts… I don't know that I could handle it if things between us went back… to how they used to be."

"They won't," Hermione assured him, the ferocity in her tone surprising even her. She took his hand. "Call me crazy, but this feels real."

"You're fucking crazy," he muttered, "but it is."

Hermione stared at him, feeling a breath catch in her throat. In an effort to prevent tears from breaking from her eyes, she took a long sip of her drink.

"I'm glad you're coming back," she whispered.

"I think I've been coming back since you kissed me on that cliff," he said, his grey eyes open and honest.

Hermione's eyes flew wide. "Then I'm not calling you Draco!"

"Yes you are," he chuckled. "We have the whole train ride to debate it. Come on, Finn and Mark are playing some sort of game with red cups and a ball."

"It sounds terrifying," Hermione breathed. She finished her drink and grinned. "Let's go then,  _Malfoy_."

* * *

Hermione stirred into awareness, blinking as she vaguely recalled her circumstances.

She was in Whitby. This was her own bed. Her head was  _throbbing_.

Her vision cleared, and comprehension began to dawn. An arm was thrown across her body. Her eyes flew open, and she noted with relief she was clothed in her sleep t-shirt and shorts.

A shaggy head of pale blond hair lay on the pillow beside hers; the extraneous arm belonged to the blond head.

Her legs and feet were tangled with his, but beyond that, they both seemed decent. He stirred with her movement, blinking drowsily at her.

"Water," he gasped. With some effort, Hermione reached over to the bedside carafe and poured him a glass. He choked it down with a murmured, "Thanks."

"Hi," she breathed, and he smiled absently. "I feel atrocious."

"Same," he muttered, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back flush against his chest. "Suppose we ought to just stay in bed, then."

"I don't remember the end of the night," Hermione ventured cautiously.

"We didn't do anything," Malfoy said easily with a grin. "You were a little more incapacitated than would have been… proper. But you  _did_  convince me to stay, by refusing to let me walk home."

"Okay," Hermione breathed with a sigh of relief, even as she flushed at his words.

One of his hands was playing across the exposed skin of her stomach and pressed against him as she was, she could feel the hard evidence of his awareness of her. Her next breath caught in her throat, and experimentally, she maneuvered herself closer towards him.

"Granger," he hissed in her ear, one hand lingering on her hip.

"It's not Hermione anymore, then?" she asked, her voice breathy.

"Not right now it isn't," he growled, rolling his hips against her arse.

Gasping as her core clenched in a most delicious way, Hermione reached back, running a hand along the bare skin of his back and chest. Then she groaned, dropping her head to her pillow.

"I might have some hangover draught buried somewhere," she muttered. Malfoy released her and laid back, blinking at her hopefully.

Stumbling out of bed, Hermione found her beaded bag and dug around for several minutes until she let out a breath of relief and drew out two small vials.

"Thank Merlin," Malfoy groaned as he ingested the contents of one of the vials. Hermione drank her own and settled back into bed, facing him.

"So you're coming back to Hogwarts," Hermione said, a demure smile slipping to her face. "I'm glad."

"Right," he sighed. He hitched her closer, drawing her leg up around his hip. "I wasn't going to tell you until tonight."

"What's tonight?" Hermione asked, feeling warm under his intense gaze.

He shrugged. "I'm done work now. I thought I would take you for a nice dinner."

"I'm done, too," Hermione said, chewing her lip. "Friday was my last day."

"Good," he murmured, dropping a kiss to her neck. "Tomorrow we'll have to pack, and Tuesday we'll leave. It's crazy to think the summer is over."

"When do you get your wand back?" Hermione asked, tilting her head back as he continued teasing her neck and collarbone.

"At King's Cross," he breathed against her skin, and Hermione squirmed at the feel of it. "They're going to send a Ministry representative to meet me before the train leaves."

"Are you – excited?" Hermione gasped as he bit down on the skin behind her ear.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Obviously."

Hermione let out a giggle and caught his lips with her own. Instantly, he pulled her closer, and the heated friction between them loosed a groan from her lips.

"Granger," Malfoy muttered, his fingers playing with the waistband of her shorts, "are you a virgin?"

His hand slipped inside, his fingertips ghosting the skin of her bare thigh.

"No," Hermione choked, her head spinning with awareness of him, her hands grazing across his back as he positioned himself above her. "You?"

"No," he breathed, returning to her neck as his fingers found the lace of her knickers. He smirked as he lightly teased his fingers over the lace at the apex of her thighs, feeling the moisture between her legs. He kissed her on the lips again, gently, as he slipped one finger inside, then another, and Hermione groaned and bucked against his hand.

"Malfoy," she gasped, meeting his gaze.

"I think," he said, carefully removing his hand. He licked her fluids from one finger at a time, a slow smirk spreading across his face. Hermione thought her brain might explode; her heart was beating nearly through her chest. "I might wait for dessert." He flashed his teeth. "If that's alright with you, of course."

"Yes," Hermione said instantly, her breathing quick. She huffed a breath, "That's alright."

A grin broke across his face. "Good."

"I suppose we ought to get up," Hermione said, even as she settled against him again. "I'll need to clean the house."

"Use your wand for once, I won't judge," he murmured with a chuckle. He nuzzled his face into her hair, tugging at her curls. "I like your hair like this." Then as an afterthought, he added, "We don't need to get up just yet."

"Good," Hermione said, allowing her eyes to slip shut again.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione fidgeted with some unruly curls as she prepared herself for dinner later that evening. Malfoy had only left several hours previously, having lingered for a late breakfast after Hermione performed a series of cleaning charms on the resultant chaos of the night before.

Eventually they had decided they ought to get ready for dinner, and Malfoy had gone home to shower and change.

Hermione now found herself on the verge of a mental breakdown, wondering when his opinion of her had become so important.

Since she had realized – she supposed – that he was a better person than she had always understood him to be. Since she had seen the side of him that wanted to do better, and be better, now that he had the free will to do so. Since she had learned, with a heavy heart, that he had been even more broken by the war than she had.

And beyond all that, he had become an easy person to talk to, and they had more similar interests than she ever could have imagined.

It was strange to think that only a few months prior she would have considered him an enemy, and now she was excited to see where the future might lead them.

She wore the blue floral sundress Celeste had insisted she purchase, a month prior, when the two had gone on a shopping trip through some of Whitby's fashion boutiques.

And after a careful shower to keep her hair from exploding, Hermione had attempted to wear it up. But then she remembered what he had said that morning, and Hermione had gone into a tailspin sort of panic and decided to wear it down instead.

Some simple silver jewelry and a light smattering of makeup and Hermione was as ready as she thought she would be.

She took a seat on the couch in the sitting room, waiting for Malfoy to arrive. Invariably, her mind drifted to the things he had said the night before – the ones she could remember, anyway. How he had asked, unashamedly, that things wouldn't change between them if he came back to Hogwarts.

A smile slipped to her features as Hermione considered the reactions of her friends, especially Harry and Ron when they learned who her summer companion had been and that he would subsequently be her Hogwarts companion as well.

She knew it wouldn't go over well, but they didn't control her life  _or_  her decisions, and  _he_  was her choice. As her friends, they would simply have to accept it. And in time… Hermione hoped they might see the version of Malfoy she had come to know and care for as well.

Her heart skipped in her chest as the object of her thoughts knocked on the door, and then let himself in. A slow smile broke across his face.

He looked dashing in black trousers and a grey shirt that brought out his eyes and accented his summer-tanned skin; his hair had been done in an attractive sort of way atop the crown of his head.

"You look lovely," he murmured, meeting her eyes. "Are you ready to go?"

"As do you," Hermione replied, taking his offered hand and standing. She walked to the door and slipped on her shoes. "Absolutely."

* * *

Hermione settled back in her seat after a delicious and filling dinner. Malfoy had brought her to what had to be the fanciest restaurant in Whitby and requested she order whatever she felt like.

Her eyes had widened upon a cursory glance of the menu, and when she had opened her mouth to protest he had simply given her a stern look.

Obviously, she knew his family was wealthy, and he must have converted a significant amount of galleons to Muggle currency before moving to Whitby, but still. Some of these dishes cost way more than Hermione would ever willingly spend on food.

So she had settled on a meal that both sounded good and was moderately priced, and he had ordered their finest steak, insisting he was tired of seafood.

Hermione didn't think she could blame him.

And after a fabulous meal with an impeccable wine pairing and wonderful company, Hermione had settled back with a smile on her face.

"Since we're having such a nice Muggle date," Malfoy mused, "do you want to go see a moving picture?"

"The movies," Hermione snickered. "But sure."

He rolled his eyes. " _Or_  we could put something on the television at my house."

Hermione hesitated, meeting his gaze. His expression was carefully neutral. She breathed, "Your house."

"Okay," he said with a huff of relief. "There is a stack of them, so you'll have to select one that you'd like to watch." He smirked. "And I'll have to take your word that it's a good one."

"I can do that," Hermione said with a grin, privately considering that she could select something entirely outlandish – or overly sappy – and he would have to watch it with her.

Hermione flushed and found herself averting her gaze as he slipped a considerable stack of Muggle notes into the leather folio with the receipt in it.

He raised a brow and then smiled, a murmured, "Okay. Let's go then."

Hermione picked through the small stack of movies – Malfoy's house had been pre-furnished, much as hers had been – and narrowed her selection down to two.

"What is this one about?" Malfoy asked, flipping one of the boxes to look at the description.

"A ship that hits an iceberg and sinks," she said, lips twitching.

"Depressing," he drawled, "and this one?"

"Dinosaurs," Hermione grinned.

"Dinosaurs," he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "These are your top choices?"

"Most of those movies are twenty years old," Hermione informed him. "So yes."

"This one looks cheesy," he said, peering closer at the  _Titanic_  box.

"It has a sad ending," Hermione supplied. "It's also four hours long."

"Dinosaurs it is," he said instantly, handing her  _Jurassic Park_. "Honestly, that's what Muggles consider good entertainment?"

"It was the most successful movie released last year by far," she said with a grin.

"What the fuck," he muttered, shaking his head. "Okay, put the dinosaur one in. I don't know how."

Hermione did so, then quickly settled herself beside him, tucking a throw around them both as the movie began. Malfoy stared at her and smiled.

* * *

"What a fucked up story," Malfoy said as the credits began to roll. "Why would these scientists think it was a good idea to create dinosaurs who could easily eat them and not maintain proper control of them? And especially since they ought to have known how badly it could go?"

Hermione shrugged. "A lot of movies don't make logical sense, but they still make money."

"Ridiculous," he muttered. "Those  _fucking_  velociraptors."

Hermione snickered. She had been keeping track of the number of times he had jumped in surprise when dinosaurs had emerged unexpectedly.

" _You're_  ridiculous," she scoffed. Malfoy turned to her, unimpressed, a pale brow arched. He opened his mouth to object, and Hermione cut him off with a murmured, "Thank you for tonight."

He pressed his lips together, leaning the back of his head against the couch as he turned towards her. "I know how much this place has meant to you. We ought to give it a proper send-off, right?"

"Right," Hermione breathed, staring at him, a flutter in her chest. She tensed, a sudden terror seizing her chest. "What happens if we don't go?"

"Then life carries on as it has for months," he said easily. "I'll go back to the sea, and you'll go back to the diner…" He trailed off, raising a brow. "Second thoughts?"

"No," Hermione said quickly. "Not really… maybe."

He gazed at her for a long moment. "I don't know what to tell you. I've been far more indecisive about leaving here." He tilted his head, taking her hand. "But I'm pretty sure at this point I would follow you."

"That doesn't help," Hermione choked, seeking out his grey eyes.

"It wasn't meant to, I'm afraid," he said, an apologetic curve to his lips. "Why don't you just do what feels right? Besides..." he smirked, glancing at the calendar hanging on the wall, "you still have one day."

"Then we'll decide tomorrow," she asserted, mussing his hair; she bit her lip as she gazed up at him. Her voice dropped to a whisper and she said, "Tonight we'll just do what feels right."

"I like that plan," he breathed, pressing his lips to hers.

Hermione kissed him back, feeling a skiff of nerves chase through her stomach. It was true that she wasn't a virgin, but she wasn't  _that_  experienced, and something about the way he had touched her that morning –

"Stop overthinking this," Malfoy muttered against her lips, pulling away.

"Sorry," she whispered, horrified to feel her face flush.

"Granger," he drawled, stretching out the syllables. "I could feel you turn into a statue just now." He gave her an easy grin. "Nothing happens unless we're both comfortable with it, alright?"

"Right," she said, nodding. She made a face. "I suppose I just don't know… what you're expecting."

"I'm an eighteen-year-old male, Granger," he chuckled, "my expectations are low. And for the record, I've only been with one girl. Sixth year."

"One," Hermione muttered, disbelieving. Though, when she really considered it, when would he have found the time with a war going on? A war in which, she now knew, he had struggled immensely. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeated, slinging an arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer.

Hermione looked at him, and there was something in the sidelong and conspiratorial glance he gave her, something in the way his nice hairdo had gone scruffy from her hands.

She chewed her lower lip for a moment before shifting to straddle herself across his legs, her fingers carding through the sides of his hair as she kissed him again, harder this time, and he reciprocated in turn, his hands skimming her back.

Steeling herself, Hermione absently picked at the buttons of his shirt with one hand, and he groaned as she tugged the shirt free from his pants.

He dragged the zip on the back of her dress down, and her skin tingled as his fingertips met the bare skin of her back, even as he continued to kiss her slowly, as if savouring the taste of her.

She settled onto his lap, feeling the evidence of his arousal between them, and hesitantly, pressed herself down against him, jolts of pleasure shooting through her core at the friction between them. Her head fell back as she did it again.

"Granger," he choked, burying his face in her neck as he experimentally lifted himself against her. Pushing the straps of her dress from her shoulders, he dropped a trail of kisses to her flesh and goosebumps erupted across her skin as Hermione reached for his belt.

He wrenched himself away, catching her wrist and entwining their fingers. His breaths were coming heavy – his grey eyes were beautiful as they met hers.

"Come on," he breathed, lifting her as he stood and setting her on her feet before him. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips as he stared at her, and he bit hard on his lower lip.

He led her to his bedroom, then walked around to her back, pushing the dress from her shoulders to drop at her feet. He ghosted his mouth across her back, his hands grazing her bra.

Hermione turned to face him, meeting his gaze; he smirked as she released his belt buckle and made short work of his trousers.

Then she grabbed his face, kissing him, and he was kissing her harder, his hands everywhere; they made it to the bed, and he was above her, his face buried in her neck –

Hermione reached down, pushing his boxers from his hips, and he kicked them to the floor as he released the clasp of her bra, throwing it onto the pile.

Hermione gasped a breath; his touch on her skin was everything, and she couldn't get enough – her skin was hot and tingling as she grasped his length in her hand – he cursed in her ear and his ragged voice set her head spinning.

With a smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, he dropped a trail of kisses down her chest. Hermione's eyes nearly rolled back into her head as his hands made short work of her knickers, his fingers grazing the skin of her thighs.

She choked on an undefined exultation as he slipped two fingers inside, her hands clenching the sheets, white-knuckled, at the sensation rolling across her nerve endings.

"Malfoy," she gasped, as her back arched away from the bed. His gaze was hot as he stared at her, his breathing heavy.

She uttered his name like a curse – a prayer – as his thumb found her clitoris, her mind spinning into delirium and spiraling into an explosive, black haze as release swept over her.

Hermione sunk into the bed, an absent smile on her face and her chest heaving; she stared dizzily at him as his hands travelled back up, lingering at her breasts.

His grey eyes were heavily-lidded as he kissed her again, and Hermione sunk a hand into the fine blond strands at the back of his neck. Grasping his hard length again, she enjoyed the way his eyes fluttered as she familiarized herself with what he seemed to like the most.

"Granger," he muttered in her ear, " _fuck_." Then he steadied her hand, guiding himself to her entrance.

Hermione's eyes fell shut at the pleasure – the pain – of the moment, as he entered her, her walls stretching to accommodate his girth, and how utterly  _full_  she felt.

She groaned his name as an oath as he began moving, his face hovering near hers, and she kissed him, her breathing heavy as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Granger," he groaned again, picking up speed; her head fell to the side and she bit down on her lower lip.

"Thought it was Hermione now," she whispered with a hitched giggle, basking in the absolute thrill of delectation, as with each thrust, he pushed her nearer the edge.

He snickered and adjusted her legs over his shoulders. Hermione gasped at the deeper sensation, her eyes fluttering shut again. "It's Granger when I fuck you."

"Deal," she choked, seeing spots on the inside of her eyelids.

She felt that peak build within her again, and cried out as, without warning, her orgasm swept through her. Malfoy groaned, and with a series of thrusts, he reached completion as well, collapsing halfway on top of her.

His eyes opened lazily and he grinned, pressing a kiss to the damp skin of her temple.

Hermione simply stared at him and caught his lips with hers for a slow, languid kiss.

He blinked and drew away. "Do you need a spell or –"

"I'm on the potion," she said, smiling demurely. She yawned, blinking at him. "I need the loo."

He smacked her on the arse as she flitted away.

By the time she returned his eyes were shut, and Hermione tucked herself into bed alongside him; he muttered something incoherent and drew her closer. Her eyes fell shut in an instant.

* * *

Malfoy was watching her sleep. Hermione blinked into awareness at the feel of his hands tracing patterns on her bare skin. His fingers were rough from a summer of hard labour.

"Morning," he said with a smile.

"Hi," Hermione said, feeling oddly nervous, even as her body felt relaxed and sated.

"I had a lot of fun last night," he murmured. "I should say, the  _whole_  night, not just..."

"So did I," Hermione said, smiling. "And I'm looking forward to spending today with you as well."

"I have to pack and clean," he said, rolling onto his back, and dragging her onto his chest.

"Same," Hermione agreed. "Good thing I have a wand, isn't it?"

He smirked, his grey eyes alight. "That is a  _very_  good thing." He planted a kiss on her lips, drawing her closer, "because that means we can spend more time in bed."

"A good thing indeed," she murmured. She moved beneath the sheets, straddling herself across his hips, and eased herself onto his arousal, feeling tender still from the night before. He hissed in surprise, grasping her hips as she began to move slowly.

"Minx," he choked and grinned. " _My_  minx."

* * *

Hermione gazed out at the sunset over the pier for the last time. As if it were saying farewell, the sky danced in brilliant shades of orange and purple and pink.

They had spent the morning cleaning and packing their respective houses and possessions, before venturing around town, stopping at the diner for lunch, and visiting the docks to say farewell to everyone, as they would be leaving for London the following morning.

Then they had spent the remainder of the afternoon on the East Cliff, exploring the ruins of the Whitby Abbey, before returning to the pier for one last spectacular sunset.

"We'll come back, you know," Malfoy said softly in her ear, adjusting his hold on her shoulders.

"I suppose we will," Hermione said with a sigh. "It just feels so final. I had no idea I would come to love it so much."

"Neither," he said, his grey eyes casting shades of the sunset as he gazed at her.

"Are you nervous?" she whispered, "to return to Hogwarts?"

"Nervous, anxious, apprehensive," he listed, staring out at the sea. "I'll miss the water, most of all. The waves, the spray – the freedom."

Hermione stared at him and leaned into his embrace again. She only echoed his words, "We'll come back."

* * *

Hermione smiled absently to herself on Platform 9 ¾ as she watched Malfoy discussing something with the Ministry representative who had been sent to release his magic and return his wand.

Everything had been finalized in Whitby that morning; their possessions had been shrunken and stowed and Malfoy had sent his owl back to Hogwarts. They had arrived at King's Cross with plenty of time to spare, and Hermione watched as the most punctual trickled onto the platform.

The man from the Ministry shook Malfoy's hand, and with a nod, he Disapparated.

Malfoy approached, tucking his wand into his pocket. It felt odd to see him on the platform in a t-shirt and jeans, though it had been his standard in Whitby.

"Magic released?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes," he said with a grin. Hermione glanced at the bracelet that had been a transfigured cuff with interest. "I told him I wanted to keep the bracelet; he just deactivated the magic of it. A reminder, you know."

"Of course," Hermione breathed.

"It feels like something I'd forgotten I'd lost has returned," he said, flexing his wand hand. "But yet, I've become so used to doing things without magic."

"I'm sure it'll come back quickly," she mused, stepping closer. She met his gaze, chewing her lip. "We're doing this?"

"It was your decision," he said softly. "I suppose we are." Seeing the look on Hermione's face he chuckled. "Look, if we hate it we can always leave at Christmas."

"Okay," she nodded. The platform was starting to fill up with people – students greeting their friends excitedly, parents hovering with last-minute reminders.

"Hey," he muttered, his brow furrowed as Hermione turned back to face him. "Thanks. For everything. I can't even…" he shook his head. "I don't know what my summer – my life – might have looked like, had I not stumbled upon you."

"I could say the same to you," Hermione said softly, feeling the sentiment echoed wholly in her heart.

"I –" he swallowed, looking uncomfortable, "really care about you, Granger."

Hermione blinked, touched. "It's okay, Malfoy." She reached out to his arm, gently. She breathed into the space between them, "I've fallen for you, too."

"Hermione!" She jumped, startled, at the sound of her name.

She turned to see Harry and Ron approaching, grins on their faces. She felt Malfoy instantly tense beside her.

Harry and Ron stopped in their tracks, exchanging a glance between them at her choice of company.

"Let's get a compartment," Harry said with uncertainty.

"I'll see you later," Malfoy muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. Hermione cast him a sideways glance, holding up a hand.

"Harry, Ron," Hermione said, letting out a long breath, "I'll catch up with you later, alright?" The two blinked, looking confused as they stared between her and Malfoy. Hermione offered them a reassuring smile. "I've got plenty to tell you about."

She slipped her hand into Malfoy's; ignoring Harry and Ron's blank stares, and subsequent blustering, they walked onto the train.

"A leap of faith," Hermione breathed, glancing at him.

"Someone wise once told me," he said, tightening his grip on her hand, "to believe that life is what you make it."

They settled into an empty compartment. The train felt different, somehow, this year.

"She sounds like a keeper," Hermione whispered.

The whistle blew; the train began to huff.

"She is," Malfoy said, slipping his hand into hers. He swallowed. "And I think it might be love." He squeezed her hand. "And I think I might follow her anywhere."

Hermione released a sharp breath as, with a lurch, the train began moving.

She nodded slowly, resolving herself to this. "I think it  _is_  love." She glanced at him with a smile, knowing she would follow him as well.

It was one of life's serendipities, how a summer working in a diner – a summer of sea and rain and sunsets on the pier – of growth and struggle – could lead her to this.

And together, they could prevail through anything, like the relentless ebb and flow of the ocean's tide.


End file.
